Off to the Races
by lauraamma
Summary: Liz meets a charming older man, Red, at a dance hall where she quickly learns he is more than what he seems. He's an outlaw, a bank robber. When all previous ties to her rundown life are cut and it spurs her to leave and go on the run with him, can they both survive with the FBI constantly on their trail? Based on Public Enemies/Bonnie & Clyde. Red/Liz. M rate soon. Set in 1930's.
1. Off to the Races

_**Well, I own nothing to do with the Blacklist. I just am a massive fan.**_

_**So, I just watched Public Enemies, and I love the true story of John Dillinger/Billie Frechette romance, and then it got me wondering how it would be like if Red was a bank robber in the 30s. This will be based in the 1930's, I'm not sure I have it completely close to the times, but I enjoyed writing this. Hopefully you will find enjoyment reading It, and if you think it is something worthy of continuing, feel free to let me know. :)**_

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_**Off to The Races**_

_**(Set in the 1930s, Chicago)**_

_My old man is a thief and I'm gonna stay and pray with him till the end_  
_But I trust in the decision of the Lord to watch over us_  
_Take him when he may, if he may_  
_I'm not afraid to say that I'd die without him_  
\- Off to the Races, Lana Del Ray

"Ellie, I'm not so sure about this one," Elizabeth said uneasily, looking down at the dress her friend had suggested she borrow and wear for the evening.

The dress was exquisite, Elizabeth couldn't possibly deny that, and although her good girlfriend was a size larger than she was, it still seemed to fit her perfectly. It was red satin and had butterfly sleeves, and finished just below her calves. But having spent most her days working modestly as a coat-check girl, she wasn't used to such fancy dress wear.

"Liz, you've got to," her friend insisted. "Where we're going to tonight, this is the kind of stuff a girl wears. Besides, what's wrong with it? Don't you like it?"

"Of course that isn't it, Ellie," Liz said. "I love it. I do." She turned to inspect the dress again, twisting her body a bit and looking down at the several inches of her legs that were showing. "I suppose I'm just not too sure about tonight. Where did you say we were going?"

"You look swell, I promise. And as to where we're heading out to tonight, I'm not telling you. Not until we get there, anyway. You'll just have to wait."

"Okay, fine." She sighed. "I'll wear the dress. But wherever we're going, if I don't like the look of it then we're leaving first instance I say so, all right?"

xxxxx

"Come on," Ellie said, pulling herself out of the car in a darkly lit industrial area that Liz did not recognize. "We're here. This will be fun, I promise you. We'll have a swell time."

"What is this place?" Liz asked, following her friend anxiously.

They went into a lit alleyway where a recessed wooden red door was , and Liz watched her friend as Ellie rapped her knuckles on the door three times and then stood back, adjusting her dress around her hips. A rectangular peephole slid open, revealing a pair of deep-set eyes belonging to a man, and Liz could hear the sound of a party and band playing behind him.

With one glance at her friend, the peephole shut. Liz heard her friend sigh impatiently, and then there was the unmistakable sound of a deadbolt being slid back. The door swung open, and a man with a bushy beard looked them over before stepping aside to the let the two girls in for the evening.

They stepped through a marbled foyer, past a coat check, and descended down a set of steps to where the party was pulsing around the building. Liz hesitated at the first step in her high heels, taking it one easy careful step at a time, and once she reached the last step, she followed Ellie cautiously towards the sound of jazz music. From a high ceiling hung elaborate crystal chandeliers, and the surroundings before them opened up into a large, marble-floored dance hall. One section of the room was the dance floor filled with couples already jamming, and in another were tables and areas to sit and mingle in groups.

Wafts of whitish-grey smoke from cigars and cigarettes encompassed the sitting area, and as Liz peered past the sea of heads on the dance floor, she could see a band playing on a raised platform. Across from them and down to the left was where a wood-paneled bar was, where a man in a tuxedo was serving liquor.

"Let's get a table and sit," Ellie suggested through the music, and Liz agreed and followed her friend passively while she looked around at their surroundings with a mixture of both rapture and confusion. They found an available table and pulled out their chairs, sitting close by each other while they looked around and took in everything.

"How did you know where to find this place?" Liz asked, searching for any other familiar faces in the room. At that moment, the music died down and there was a loud murmuring of voices before applause broke out from around the tables. Wanting to fit in, Liz quickly joined in by clapping her hands together and then the band started with another song.

"I met a good fellow who suggested this place," Ellie explained to her. "He told me if I was interested in a good time and cutting up, then this was the place. What do you think? It's wonderful enough, isn't it?"

"It is," Liz admitted, feeling a little overwhelmed by it all. "I haven't been out like this in a long while. It was nice of you to suggest I come."

Just then, laughter broke out abruptly from a group of people four tables away from them and Liz's eye was drawn to the sounds. The instance her eyes made a curious sweeping of the group- which consisted of five men and two women- it occurred to her that one of the men was staring directly at her.

He seemed to be the only one in the group that hadn't laughed, as if he was too preoccupied with staring over at her to take any of the conversations shared around the table in. He had a cigar streaming with smoke in his right hand and Liz was stunned by the gall he had to not look away from her, even while knowing she had caught his staring.

His eyes seemed to go all the way through her. He was wearing a pin-striped white dress shirt, dark grey vest, tie tucked in, and black slacks for the evening. His dress sense and the noisy characters he surrounded himself with at the table suggested they were of upper-class calibre in the socioeconomic ladder. He was a man of both wealth and taste.

Liz held his gaze as she smiled tentatively at him.

He just stared at her for a moment longer and smiled a little bit with the corners of his mouth and then, finally, he looked off in another direction while slipping his cigar between his lips, pursing them, and taking in a puff. Liz was still watching him as he reached around in his chair and retrieved a black fedora. As he rose to his feet and placed his hat on the table in front of where he was sitting, he bent down to stub his cigar out in an ashtray on the table, and then he was making a start around the table in what seemed to be her direction.

She glanced away quickly, sat one elbow on the table, and rested her chin in the heel of her hand, not daring to glance his way again. She got an unnerving feeling that he was going to approach her and try to mingle with her, and when she let her eyes slide sideways, she saw that the fellow was indeed approaching, his eyes fixated exactly on her and nothing else in the room. There appeared to be a determined way of his stride and countenance, and even from this distance away, Liz could feel the heat of the fellows gaze as he looked at her as if she were the only one worthy of looking at in the room.

"Shall we get something to drink?" Ellie's voice broke through Liz's looking, and she seemed to follow her gaze. "You know that fellow, Liz? He seems to be making his way over here?"

Liz shook her head silently. She was certain she didn't know the man at all. She didn't recognize him, but she could tell just by catching him staring at her from his seat at his table that he had looked at her in a way that told her he liked her already more than just a little bit.

When the fellow reached their table with his hands tucked deeply in his trouser pockets, stopping before them, Liz felt her heart pounding furiously as she looked up at him. Again, his eyes were only on her. It was as if Ellie, her good and admittedly better-looking friend, was non-existent to him. Up closer, Liz thought he was a very handsome fellow, although older.

"Good evening." The man's voice was deep, soft, and still, he seemed barely aware of her friend's presence, so focused did his attention seem to be on Liz.

"Good evening, sir," Liz replied, struggling to keep her voice even.

"You look incredibly beautiful this evening. That is a ravishing dress you're wearing." Liz felt her cheeks glow warm under his intense scrutiny, as he lowered his eyes and slowly took in every inch of the dress he could see she was wearing from under the tabletop tonight. She definitely had Ellie to thank for letting her borrow it this evening. "Care for a drink? I'm buying."

Liz eyebrow's rose slightly, taken aback by his words. The man was certainly not bothering to go to extreme lengths to hide his delight in the look of her appearance, and she couldn't remember meeting someone who was so bold and straightforward before.

"I appreciate the offer, sir," she said, "But I'm not drinking tonight."

"Hmm." He chewed the inside of his cheek as he seemed to mull that over, still paying her friend no attention. "If not a drink, how about a dance then?"

Instantly, she felt like declining. She could not understand this man at all, no less why he had taken such a sudden interest in her. But then she peered around the room, saw how everyone else seemed to be having a jolly good time on the dance floor, and decided, Why shouldn't she? What harm would be done? After all, Ellie had brought her there this evening with the intentions of letting loose and having a swell time.

She looked over at her friend, who shrugged and smiled at her encouragingly.

"All right then. A dance would be fine."

Getting to her feet, Liz hesitated as the man held a hand out to her, and then she decided she was acting rather immature, so toughening herself up, she accepted his hand and slid her hand through his, allowing him to lead her towards the dance floor.

The band stopped, there was a round of applause through the room, and then a softer, slower song began playing.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" He asked her through the music.

"Liz," she answered softly, and once they had found a nice spot to dance, they turned and faced one another. She looked him over carefully with her eyes as he slipped in closer and placed a hand on her waist gently, and she reached up to rest her hand on his shoulder as they began moving to a basic two-step. "You got a name yourself?" she asked him, when he didn't voluntarily give her his.

"Of course." The warmth of his fingers seemed to soak through the satin of her dress, and as he met her eyes, he smiled at her. "The name's Red."

For a moment, she assumed he was joking and she lifted her chin up and laughed softly over the music. But when she caught his eyes again, she quickly realized otherwise. His expression was quite unreadable, but she gathered he was nothing if not serious on that. "Red," she whispered softly in acceptance. "That's it? Just... Red? Like the color of my dress?"

"Yes, exactly like the color of your dress. And your lipstick."

"That's a strange name for a man? Just... Red?"

"Well, yes. It's more so of a... nickname that I have been granted over the years."

Liz was surprised to find she was enjoying herself already, in dancing with this stranger. His touch and closeness didn't seem in any way uncomfortable. In fact, the only thing remotely uncomfortable that she found about the situation, was how he gazed at her with his green eyes.

She went back and forth out of nerves, between looking him in the eyes and looking across his shoulder, but each time she let herself look at him, his gaze seemed unwavering and solely on her and nothing else in the room. It was as if she was an exotic broad, something intriguing to him that he couldn't work out. In contrast, Liz hardly felt there was anything new or exciting about herself at all.

She lived a modest, if yet boring life. She worked days as a coat check girl, and still lived with her father in their apartment on the West side of town. If it hadn't been for Ellie insisting she head out this evening, she would have simply been stuck indoors doing nothing fresh or different.

"You're a very good dancer, Red," she said, to break the ice.

"Thank you. You are, also."

She had to think of something to say. All she came up with, which was hardly clever, was, "Why Red? Why the nickname Red? You got a real name to give me?"

He seemed uncomfortable on the topic. "Let's not talk about all that. It's such a trivial matter," he said dismissively. She felt the movement of his shoulder beneath her hand as he shrugged. "Tell me about yourself instead, Lizzie." The way he readily made up a nickname for her, something no one else usually called her as, it sent a shiver of delight through her. She found she did not mind being called that at all. Especially not in his rich, smoky voice that she took instant liking to. "What do you do? Do you come here often? I so want to know."

She felt a flare of disappointment that he hadn't answered her question. But hopefully they could come to that again later. "There's nothing all that interesting about me," she admitted humbly. "I check coats at the Steuben Club. I still live with my father. This is the first time I've come here. I don't come out very often." Talking about herself was enough to put her to sleep. "So, what do you do? Surely that is far more interesting than hearing about me all night..."

"Oh, no. On the contrary, I find you to be very interesting."

She leaned back a little. She couldn't tell whether he was just fooling. "Do you?"

"Yes. Extremely so." His hold on her hand loosened and she felt like retreating away from him when his fingers grazed the scar on the inside of her wrist, something she had gotten when she was a child. "Is this a scar I see, on your wrist? What happened? How did you get it?"

"What does it matter?" she asked, feeling quickly on the defensive. "I've had it since I was a little girl. Most men don't like that about me- the scar, the... deformity. There was a fire and I hurt myself. It turns them off, makes them feel I'm different from all the other girls. Most men don't like it about me, okay?"

"Well, let me reassure you," he said, running his thumb along the puckered mark, "I'm not like most men."

"Oh, yeah?" She couldn't say she believed him, despite how different he seemed from all the rest.

"In fact, I'm confident you will never meet another man like me. Not for miles and miles." Startling her, he brought her hand closer, turned his face towards her wrist, and she felt the warmth of his breath and his lips as he pressed them to her burn on her wrist. As he leaned back to look at her, he gave her a kind smile. "And this certainly isn't going to put me off, nor is it anything repulsive like other things I've seen that comes naturally with my particular lifestyle."

It took her a moment to get over the shock of him doing such a thing to her. Liz was used to men, particularly her age, catching a glimpse of her burns and reeling in disgust. Not this man, though. He hardly looked bothered by it one bit, obviously. But once he interlaced his fingers through hers and started moving again as the band played on, Liz recollected herself.

"So do you come here often?" she enquired, a little breathlessly.

"No, I've never been here before tonight. This usually isn't my scene, but a few friends insisted that we have some fun here tonight."

"Are you from around this part of Chicago?" she murmured quickly, desperate not to let them fall into an awkward silence.

"You could say that I'm from everywhere. I never stay in one place for too long. I enjoy constant change. I live for unpredictability. Me and my friends over there, we're constantly on the move. We never stay in a place more than three days at a time. It is certainly far safer that way for us."

To hear him talk and tell her these things, Liz couldn't deny it was so very fascinating. She had always dreamed of getting out-of-town and travelling, experiencing the world. Only, with her father ill and having to rely on her, that was out of the question. She loved her father too much to leave him. However this man, Red, clearly had different views and lived a different way of life than she did- whatever that lifestyle may be, it didn't seem as if he wanted to disclose it to her- but it was undoubtedly fascinating, the way he talked about it rather passionately.

"So you're a traveler? You never stay in one spot for too long?"

"Yes."

"I've always dreamed of myself being like that," she confessed quietly. "The idea of travelling has always appealed to me. There has to be so much more to this world than I've seen or experienced. I'd love to go on a bit of an... adventure. It has just always sounded so awfully-" Her words were interrupted when a man approached them grimly. She recognized him as one of the man's companions from his table.

The man was dark-skinned and tall, wearing a black trench coat and a cap over his head. "Ray," she heard him speak over the music urgently, and it occurred to her that he was addressing the man she was currently mingling and dancing with.

Sending an apologetic smile her way, the fellow who told her his name was Red (yet was called Ray by the other man) dropped his hand from her waist and separated himself from her to give the man his undivided attention.

She watched as the man clapped Red - or Ray, she was a bit confused what to call him- on his shoulder and leaned down to say something in his ear.

"It's time to go," Liz thought she heard the man tell him. "They're outside. Now's a good enough time as any to make a move out of here, unless you want to go into the can again?"

"That's a ridiculous question, my friend," Red laughed at the man's words, and the man patted him on the back again while Red accepted the black fedora he then passed him- something which obviously belonged to him. He placed his fedora on his head and turned to look at her.

"Ray?" she whispered in confusion.

He glanced over at the table at where the rest of his friends were, and the group of men had already stood from their seats, gathering their things, and seemed to be preparing to leave also with the women in tow. She watched the side of his jaw clench. "Yes, that's my name, Lizzie."

"You told me your name was Red, now you're telling me it's Ray. Which is it?"

"Both," he explained, straightening his spotted tie that was neatly tucked in. "It was a little half-truth on my part." He patted down the breast pockets of his fancy suit, as if checking ahead of time that he had something with him, and when he finally met her eyes again, his mouth opened and then closed up, as if he was unsure how to say his farewells to her. "Unfortunately I'll have to be leaving you now. There is really no more time to stay, regrettably. But thank you, Lizzie."

"What for, sir?"

"For indulging me in a dance and for letting me talk with you. I haven't had the opportunity to do that with a beautiful woman in months. It has been a true pleasure."

He gave her a tip of the brim of his hat with his fingers, threw a quick enigmatic smile her way. Then he was gone, striding away from the dance floor like a man desperate to leave before something bad fell upon him. Liz tried to follow him with her eyes, only the place was too crowded and she lost sight of him fairly quickly.

Then it happened.

Suddenly there was a loud commotion as the door burst open, and the FBI were filling in with rifles in their hands. There was a loud scream from everyone in the room, couples stopped dancing, seated people who were mingling stood up in alarm.

"No one move!" One of the officers cried. "Everyone please remain seated and calm. There is no cause for concern. We're just looking for a group of men! Please remain seated and then once we're done, you can all be on your way."


	2. Laying it all open

_**Thank you guys so much for your alerts and reviews. They mean the world to me. I do hope you enjoy this one, it's been fun writing this. I just hope it isn't terribly written :p**_

_**I don't own the Blacklist.**_

_**And all mistakes, etc, are mine.**_

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_**Chapter Two**_

Sam lay in his terribly uncomfortable bed, when he heard his daughter get in quietly.

She stood by the entryway into his room for a moment, taking in a deep breath to prepare herself. It was always like this, when she got home; She was never quite sure of what she would be coming home to, when it came to her father.

Her daddy Sam had been struck with a terrible virus months ago, and he hadn't recovered from the illness since. He spent most of his days in bed, not having the energy to do much anymore. It was why Liz threw herself into working the way she had; They had bills to pay, supper to put onto the table, and with her father sick in bed all day, it meant that Liz had to quickly adopt the role as main provider. She knew other families had it plenty worse, though, so she counted herself lucky. She was thankful for every day that her father made it through. The illness didn't want to leave him and his body was probably shutting down on him.

"Oh, honey," he whispered at the sight of her in the red dress Ellie let her borrow, his eyes gleaming with tears at the corners.

"Hey Daddy," she replied gently. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling just fine. You know me; I have my bad days and my good days." He tried to sit up against the pillows and the bed-frame to get a better look at her, but his body did not seem to want to cooperate with him. Just a simple movement such as sitting up made him feel exhausted and drained. There were times Elizabeth reminded him of her mother; In a red dress and with her hair out, it was another one of those times. He felt his heart seize as if someone had wrapped a hand around it and clenched it tight. "You look more and more like your mother each passing day, honey. You look beautiful."

"Thanks. Ellie let me borrow it."

"Did you have a nice time out tonight?"

Liz didn't want to seem too enthusiastic about how good a time she had out tonight; particularly the part about dancing with an older gentleman who she found so very interesting. Especially not with her father sick and confined to bed the way he was. She felt it was selfish of her, to be going out and having a fun time while her father had no choice but to stay in bed.

"It was just fine," she answered simply, echoing his words. "We had to cut it early, though. The police raided the area."

Sam sat up a bit higher against the pillows, eyeing her with interest. A lock of his fringe fell into his forehead, sticking to the beads of sweat. "Did they give a reason why they did that?"

"Apparently they were looking for a group of men, Daddy," she answered, with an uncertain shrug. "I'm not sure why. They never said much; They just looked around, asking people questions, so Ellie and I decided to leave early." She came towards him, leaning down to kiss him on his cheek. She tried not to pay any attention to how hot and fevered his skin felt. Or notice the soiled and stained undershirt. The dark bags and lines under his eyes. "I'm gonna get to bed now, all right? I have to be working early tomorrow. Is there anything you need before I do?"

"No, sweetie pie. Get a good night's sleep."

Once she got into her bedwear and slid under the bed sheets in her room, Liz found sleeping wasn't going to come to her easily tonight. She rolled on her back, staring up at the moldy and cracked ceiling above her. For some reason, she found herself thinking about the fellow she had met and danced with tonight, Red- or Ray. Maybe his name wasn't even really either Red or Ray? Maybe he made the whole thing up to fool her. She couldn't think up any good reason somebody would lie about their name, though.

Something sure was different about him; Something she could not put her finger on.

She hadn't thought that much of it at the time, while being in the present moment with him, but he had definitely seemed to be evading answering any personal questions about himself. As if he was hiding something.

His evasiveness on her questions aside, she knew beyond any level of doubt that he was a man with an abundance of money; The dapper dress sense and the company he associated with around the table tipped that off. She thought back to the way he had stared at her from his table, the penetrating look he gave her which made her feel as if he was seeing straight inside, rather than just the outside of her. Charming and handsome as the devil himself, that was what he was in her eyes.

She hadn't met a man like him before, and yet, she didn't even know what type of man he was to begin with. _But there was definitely something there..._

She knew it was pointless, thinking about a man and trying to work him out when she knew it was unlikely she would see him again. He had already said his farewells, he thanked her graciously for the dance and the chat, and then that was that. He did not ask for her permission to see her again or to become better acquainted with her.

It was a one-time thing.

And Liz had never been the type of woman to fantasize about a man coming into her life and making it easier. She should stop thinking about him, and wondering. Yet, why was she there, laying in her bed, unable to?

XXXX

The next morning at the Steuben Club, where she worked, it was full and bursting with people. The minute she thought she was finished and could catch a break to herself, the next person popped up and appeared. It was always the same; She'd take their coat, hat, or bag, store it away, and hand them a numbered ticket so that they could return for their belongings in exchange for the ticket. Sometimes they offered her a generous tip in return, but this was a rarity for her.

It was the same song and dance, every time:

"Good evening, may I check your coat?"

The job as a coat check girl was hardly anything Liz would have called demanding or interesting, but she had to make do with what she could get. She had no right to complain or make a loud fuss about how much of a bore the job was, unless she wanted to lose it; Something she could not afford to happen to her, especially not in these hard times and with her father sick the way he was. She was guilty of daydreaming on the job more times than she could count, but it helped her get through the evening until she could go home.

By 10.30 in the evening came, she was feeling exhausted and hardly in the mood to socialize. It didn't help that she was expected to act gregarious and cheerful when greeting customers. She kept throwing looks outside of the entrance, watching the view of the outside of the club get darker and darker through the double doors. Despite the late hours, handful after handful of men and women were standing around, talking loudly among themselves and smoking.

A man wearing an expensive suit cut through her vision, she took his coat for him, and just as she was turning back to hand him his ticket, her eyes were drawn to the man suddenly standing next to him. She felt her breath hitch in her throat and the blood rush to her head as it slowly dawned onto her that Red, the fellow she had shared a pleasant dance with just last evening, was standing at the laminate counter, calmly waiting to get his coat checked as well.

She swallowed against a lump that had formed in her throat and gave the other man her attention instead, handing him his ticket and forcibly smiling. She had no idea in the slightest what Red- or Ray- was doing at her place of employment. Could it have been a mere coincidence?

She had to interlace her fingers in front of her tightly to squash the temptation she felt to reach over and touch him, make sure he was really there in the flesh and not just a mere wish on her part. She watched as his slate-colored eyes took in the clothes she was wearing; The cardigan, blouse, and wrap skirt that made up her uniform. Somehow she had forgotten how intense his gaze could be, and it took her a beat to get over the unexpected shock of seeing him again.

Back to rights, she cleared her throat gently, before whispering unthinkingly, "What are you doing here? Are you following me now?"

When he finally met her eyes, he gave her a quick closed-lipped smile. "Hello, Lizzie." She had also forgotten how wonderful his voice sounded. She realized she liked him calling her that._ Lizzie_. "And, as to answer your question, no. I'm hardly following you. You told me you work here, last night. The Steuben Club." She did vaguely remember telling him that, but not once did the thought cross her that he might have used that information as a way to see her again. He looked around her place of employment, taking in the glistening floor, the counter she was standing behind. "Somehow, it isn't as good as I had pictured it was in my mind. But we can't do anything about that, now can we?"

She found herself at a loss on what to say. Her brain still wasn't working right over the shock of his sudden appearance. She never once believed she would ever see him again. "So... why are you here, sir? Can I check your coat or your hat?"

He removed his hat from his head, but he did not pass it to her. "No, I'm not here for any of that. Your service with me won't be necessary. The reason I came here tonight was strictly for dinner. Dinner tonight, you and me."

It did not come out of his mouth as a question to her. He wasn't asking her to dinner with him, he was more so telling her, and she had best come. That was what his tone of voice told her. Clearly he was used to getting his own way, with most things in life. And, clearly, he expected her to be another one of those things that came so easily to him.

"Are you asking me or telling me?" she asked him, with just enough sass in her voice to let him know she wasn't pleased.

If he caught on to her tone, he didn't show it.

"Both. The choice is yours. But I'm certainly not above and beyond getting on all fours and whining like a dog until you agree to come with me." She tried not to look shocked when he glanced down at the shiny marbled floor again, as if considering his options. "The floor doesn't look very nice on the knees, however. But if that's what you want?" He bent as if he was actually going to do it, and Liz had to physically reach over and stop him. He sure was different.

"Don't. Please just... don't. I finish in two hours."

"I'll happily wait. I'll see you outside in two hours, Lizzie."

He nodded at her once, smiled, and placed his fedora back on his head. Then he left outside the doors of the building without another word, leaving Liz feeling frazzled. He sure was strange, a different man than any she had ever met before. There was something about him, something she wasn't sure of. She couldn't believe she had actually accepted so quickly to head out to dinner with him. It was baffling to her that he didn't even mind waiting two dreadfully long hours until she got off.

When the time came and she was finished for the evening, she was disappointed to find him waiting outside the bricked building for her like a loyal dog, ready to take her out to dinner. The streetlights illuminated the rough, cracked texture of the asphalt as she stood there uncertainly, shivering as the night time wind cut through the fabric of her clothes. Car horns beeped as automobiles went roaring past on the road. She had half a mind to tell him she wasn't interested in dinner with him, so that she could head on home to her father. But he had made it clear on her that he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

Surprising her, she watched him hastily unbutton the overcoat he was wearing with steady fingers, and he ripped it off his shoulders before holding it out to her. "Here, put this on. You're cold, Lizzie."

_At least he was being attentive to her needs... A woman had to admire a man like that._

She found she was speechless when he stepped towards her, sliding his overcoat securely around her shoulders to provide her warmth from the chill in the evening air. Their eyes met and held for a moment as he fastened one of the buttons so it wouldn't slide off her, and she couldn't deny she felt immediately better, snug and warm with his coat.

"Thank you," she whispered, once she finally regained use of her voice. "That's very kind of you."

"You're very welcome, Lizzie. Now, shall we make a start?"

Since Liz didn't have any better idea what to do, she nodded and he held his arm out of her. They walked together in silence, her hand tucked inside his arm as he lead the way, half of her body pressed against him for that extra bit of warmth. She still couldn't believe she was actually doing this, but there was no going back now. When she dared to glance over at him, she found he was watching her as they walked leisurely. She could feel him shivering in the dress shirt and vest he was wearing.

"I'm sorry to have taken your coat from you. Now you're the one that's shivering."

"Nonsense. I would prefer for myself to be cold, rather than you." That was a bold and forward statement, but she tried not to let her shock show in her appearance. "Besides we don't have far to walk now. I know a nice place that is just across the road."

They crossed the road and Red stepped forward to hold the door to the restaurant open for her. She thanked him with a smile, impressed by his manners. Once inside, a man behind the counter greeted Red enthusiastically, obviously having met before, and then Red helped Liz out of his coat, then passed it and his hat to the man who hung them behind the counter on a coat rack.

"For two tonight," Red explained good-naturedly. "Thank you."

"Right this way, Mr. Gibbons," the man said, leading them away from the counter into the dinner section.

The place looked cozy and intimate, Liz thought. She hadn't gone out to dinner in a very long time. Already, people were seated and chatting at tables. The man showed them to a table that was available and Liz saw Red thank the man by giving him a very generous and large tip. Once they were free to themselves, Red pulled her chair back for her and she sat, inspecting their surroundings nervously. She felt underdressed for some reason, when she took in what other women were wearing in the premises.

"Well, I must say I'm surprised," she began when Red finally got himself seated comfortably across from her.

He gave out a soft, breathy laugh as his eyes met hers. "What made you surprised?"

"That you went out of your way and went through all this fuss and trouble so that you could have dinner with me, that's why I'm surprised."

"This is no trouble nor is it a fuss, I can assure you."

"That's strange, seeing as last night you sure appeared as if you were in a rush to get away?"

He opened his mouth, about to explain to her, but then she noticed how he closed it and simply smiled at her instead. "Would you like a drink?" he asked her.

Before she could so much as reply, the man from the counter appeared, as if it was a privilege to be serving the man seated before her. Red started speaking to the man in another language, something that was the very last thing she was expecting, and Liz noticed her mouth hang open.

He was clearly well-cultured, educated, and knew a lot. He had probably picked up different languages from travelling to different locations, as he had told her last night during their dance shared together. She had found him rather attractive last night, and now, even more so.

The man gave her a smile before he disappeared off to get their drinks prepared.

Her mind went blank as she brought her attention back to the man sitting across from her. For a moment, she had no idea what to say or what their previous conversation was about. But much to her relief, the man returned quickly, plunking a tumbler down on the table near Red's elbow. The drink Red had ordered her was dazzling; She had no idea what it was, but as the man placed it on the table in front of her, she inspected it, bewildered. The liquid inside the martini glass was blue and it smelled potent.

When she looked up, she found her date was watching her reaction with some amusement glistening away in his eyes. "It's called an Aviation cocktail. Judging by your reaction, I'm assuming you've never had one before?"

"That's correct. Usually I'm not such a drinker."

"Well, that's endearing." He didn't sound as if he was fooling with her by saying that, so it made her feel better about how unknowledgeable she no doubt seemed. He raised his glass. "To you," he toasted, and she felt strangely uncomfortable by that. Why would he bother toasting to her?

"To you," she went along with him, picking up her glass carefully. She _chinked_ her glass against his and took a quick, experimental sip of the drink. It was surprisingly refreshing, and not as bad as she had first thought it was going to taste. The gin left a fiery trail in her throat.

"What do you think? I know a lot of women who consider an Aviation cocktail their favorite drink. One woman once described it to me as it evoking the feelings of Spring. Would you agree?"

She sat her glass back down on the table and sat straighter in her seat, resting her elbow on the table and supporting her face in the heel of her hand. "Is that what you do? You do this with a lot of women?" If so, she couldn't exactly blame him. He seemed like a man who had a lot to say, a lot of experience in the finer things.

"Not recently, no. I haven't been in the company of a beautiful woman for over four months." He took another sip of his own drink, his eyes boring into hers. "Well, until last night, I should say. With you."

He peered deeply in her eyes as if it was nothing to tell a woman she was beautiful.

She didn't know whether to laugh out loud or whether to simply thank him.

"What exactly is it that you do for a living?" she asked him curiously. She hadn't missed the fact that he obviously came from money, considering how well he dressed and how he was treating her now, lavishing her with a drink that was probably more than she could afford. "You never did tell me what you did, did you?"

He looked away from her for a moment, staring across the room. His mouth moved, as if he was chewing something. "There's never one constant thing that I do, Lizzie. I like to dabble, here and there. I like mental stimulation, as all of us do."

He still hadn't properly answered her question. "So what do you mainly do?"

Liz noticed his hands grew restless at her question. He fixed up and loosened the tie he was wearing from around his neck. "Here's an idea: Let's hear more about you instead. Do you enjoy your job?"

It was no mystery to her that he was deliberately evading her question. He was being extremely vague about himself. There was clearly something there that he didn't want her to know about himself. But she let it slide for the moment, playing along. She could get back to that question later on. "We all need money to survive. My father can't work, so I do it for him." She shrugged and looked down at her hands, her fingers finding the scar on her wrist. It was a habit she had ever since she could remember, and it made her feel less nervous, every time she stroked it.

When she glanced up at Red again, she saw the way his eyes were watching what her finger was doing, in stroking her scar. Heat rushed up to her cheeks and she clasped and unclasped her hands before shoving them under the table to make herself stop.

He nodded and returned his eyes to her face, picking up his drink and taking another sip. She was relieved he didn't mention her nervous habit. He observed her, head tilting slightly. "Not to sound rude in asking, but... how much do you earn?"

"Three dollars an hour. Most men get eight." She watched him take another sip of his drink, and she picked up her glass and did the same. "When are you actually gonna tell me what you do, aside from your... travelling?"

Effectively distracting her, she couldn't help noticing his hand digging into the pocket on his shirt. Then he brought out a couple of dollar notes and slid them across the table towards her. She made no move to take them. He said nothing, just held her gaze in his as he pushed the money towards her. She decided he was the most unnerving man she had ever met.

"What are you doing?" She hissed in outrage, "You think I'm gonna take your money?"

"Please do. I have plenty to spare, Lizzie."

"I'm not taking your money," she whispered flatly. "You're insane, throwing your money around like that..." He was unbelievable.

He shrugged, very cavalier. "Perhaps. But I'm sure you need it more than I do. Who knows? It might help with your father."

"Oh, yeah? And if I take it, then what's the price?" She wasn't that foolish to accept a man's money without expecting there to be a consequence. A man couldn't be that generous. "You know, if you're looking for a girl to fool around with and have some fun with, then she's not me. You want some girl to take home for the night and have some fun with, go find someone else. I've heard they have girl's around here that do that type of thing, but I'm not one of them."

Startling her, he laughed at her words. His laughter was just as unnerving as the rest of him. "Is that what you think, Lizzie? That I'm doing this for a bit of fun? Personally, myself, quickies have never interested me. That's just not me. If I'm going to have a girl then I'm more interested in the long-haul. I want a woman who will hold me as I die in her arms."

How he spoke about his death, so calmly, was disturbing. It was as if he wasn't expecting to be around for very long, and that at any minute, he could be killed. "And have you had any luck with that? In finding the right girl who will let you die in her arms?"

"I believe I have finally found her, yes." Liz didn't need to ask who he was implying of. She could tell, just with the way he looked at her, somewhat softly and tenderly, that he meant her.

"And that's all hinting to me, is it? You're talking about me?"

"Yes," he confessed. "Well done." He didn't even bother hiding it. It was scary.

"That's a serious thing to say to someone you've only just met?"

"That is true, yes. I don't know you. I don't even know who you are, no less where you came from. But it only takes less than a minute to truly decide whether you want something and, with me, when I want something, I have to get it. Like _money_, for instance."

She picked at the stem of her glass with her fingers, digesting his words down. "So you want me?" she asked him doubtfully.

"Yes. I believe it is certainly no secret that I want you. The only question now, is whether you want me also?" He fell silent, shifting and draping an arm around the back of his chair as he watched her intently, as if waiting for her to answer.

Liz couldn't believe this. She wasn't sure whether it was all really happening, or whether she was just imagining it. This fellow was unbelievable, and straightforward, and charming as hell, she thought. She had no idea what to think or how to take his words. He began speaking again before she could so much as get anything out of her mouth.

"All right, I'll cut to the chase, Lizzie. I certainly don't want to lie to you, because if this_ is_ going to happen, I would prefer you knew everything before you made your decision. Have you listened to the radio or seen the newspapers recently?"

Liz had no idea where he was going with this. How could he change the topic so fast?

"I listen to the radio, yes."

"And have you heard about that group of notorious men that go around, from town to town, looting money like deviant rascals?"

Liz's father was the one that mainly listened to the radio, but she'd heard bits now and then. People were struggling to make ends meet and crime was becoming very popular. Where was he going with this, though? "I've heard a bit about it."

She noticed he appeared suddenly nervous as he lifted his glass, slugged the last of it down, and then plopped it back down on the table. "I'm one of those rascals, Lizzie," he muttered down at the table. "I'm Raymond Reddington. Just four days ago, I was stuck in a hell-hole of a prison called Crown Point. A few good friends came, a diversion was created, and I got out. Now all of these bumbling G-men are constantly on our trail, and that was why I had to leave early, as I did, last evening." He gave her a wryly apologetic smile at the news. "I haven't had a woman or no less experienced the pleasures of being with a woman for over fifteen years. I figure, before I die, I probably should."

She was shocked. And scared by his confession. And maybe left with an odd sensation as if she was drowning. "Why would you tell me all that? I could call someone over here, get you arrested."

"Do as you will, with that information. It's your decision, your choice to make whether you want to rat me out or not, Lizzie. But I, for one, won't be stopping you, whichever decision you choose to make. But if that's what you want, if you want to tell someone, then now is your chance. If not, come with me to my room where I'm staying."

Liz sure did have a feeling, since the first time she laid eyes on him last evening, that he was different from all the rest. But that was most definitely not the difference that she had in mind.

**Soooo... how was that? I'm one of those people that get kind of anxious so that is why it has taken me such a long time to update. I apologize and I'll update a lot more quicker. Please leave me a review to let me know what you think, as I'm not sure if I'm doing this right or if it's lacking anything vital. **


	3. Trigger happy

_**First of all, I own nothing to do with the Blacklist.**_

_**Secondly, I want to thank you all. I wanted to get another chapter out before Christmas. I hope you all have a great one, spent with loved ones and family. I hope you enjoy this chapter and, as usual, I'd love to know your thoughts. :-)**_

_**All mistakes are my own. :)**_

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_**Chapter Three**_

After his confession, she shouldn't have agreed to go with him.

She should have said a firm no, went home instead to where her father always was, sick in bed, waiting for her and listening carefully until he heard her arrive safely home through the front door. But against her better judgment, she found herself agreeing to come along with him to where he was staying for the night.

Since Liz didn't get the chance to read the newspapers or listen to the radio very often, she didn't know exactly who Raymond Reddington was, or why it was such a big deal that he was Raymond Reddington in the flesh, sitting across from her at the table.

But along with his confession, if there was one thing she knew above all else, it was that he was trouble. Trouble, and clearly nothing good for her.

He was trouble; the type of trouble her father always lectured her about staying away from, ever since she was a little girl: "You don't want to spend time hanging around with bad people, sweetie pie," her father Sam would tell her. "When someone's clearly bad news, you stay far away. You don't want their badness to rub off on you, because, people like us... well, we can't afford to be bad."

He was the worst kind of wrong for her to be associating with, if what all that he was telling her was true. He was on the run from the Federal Bureau of Investigation, having broken out of a penitentiary only four days ago. That was pretty serious, wasn't it? Her body screamed at her to leave before she got too involved and somehow got drawn into all of his trouble, yet as she got to her feet and stood from the table, her feet weren't cooperating with her. They stayed glued to the spot on the floor, while Red stood from his own chair to retrieve his overcoat and hat.

A small part inside her head was telling her to stay, that meeting him and discovering who he was, was awfully exciting. It wasn't everyday something like this happened in her boring, rundown life- a chance encounter with a criminal that was on the run and wanted by lawmen around the country.

He had a strange way of making her feel appreciated and wanted, despite the two of them basically having only just met.

He clearly knew how to treat a woman well: It showed in the way he automatically stepped closer towards her once having been handed back his coat; the way he draped it over her shoulders so she would be warm from the breeze in the air as they made their way back out of the restaurant into the lit street. The way he held the door open for her, and the way his gaze seemed only fixated on her and as if he felt her comfort was his number one priority as they walked and he showed her the way towards where he was staying for the night. It was easy to forget everything he had just told her about himself while she was being treated this way.

She only felt a faint stirring of panic once they entered the large building of the hotel where Red was staying in a room at. Everything was happening somehow so quickly; She felt she hadn't had enough time for it all to completely sink in, for her to completely understand what she was getting herself into, and just what it meant for her to be going off with this man she barely knew.

She could get into serious trouble with the law if anyone ever found out, and she felt her heart begin racing in her chest as she watched the hotel clerk behind the counter hand Red the set of keys to his room. Mr. Gibbons was the name he had purchased a room under for the night, something she found she was at a loss in understanding. Wasn't his name Reddington? Raymond Reddington? So why was he under the name Mr. Gibbons? It took her less than a second to completely understand why; It was his alias, a different name so it wouldn't tip anybody off.

She felt his hand touch her elbow, snapping her out of her confusion, and then she forced her legs to move, following him towards the staircase that lead up to the higher floors. The walk up the stairs seemed to go on and on, until Red took a left down the hallway, jiggling the keys in his hand as he went.

That horrible sensation of panic returned to her again, as he busied himself in unlocking the door to his room, his back turned to her. What was she thinking, really? If she went into his room, she knew there would be no turning back. It would be too late. The logical, rational side of her brain told her to speak up, to tell him she'd changed her mind and that she would prefer to head straight on home to her father. She should tell somebody, get him arrested. Yet she didn't want to.

She turned and looked down the narrow hallway towards the flight of stairs again, pressing her lips together. She could have easily turned and ran, made her escape before she got in too deep, and he probably wouldn't have even so much as noticed until she was completely gone and out of eyesight for good. But yet again, her legs didn't want to obey her.

They remained rooted on the spot, and, next thing she knew, the door to his room was opening and that was that, it was already far too late. Red stood aside to let her in and as she looked at him, she came to an instant understanding of why her legs weren't working with her.

Liz wanted him, she realized. For one night, she wanted to be with a man, for the first time in her life. Despite what he had just told her at the restaurant and realistically how little she knew of him, she actually wanted him. He just confessed himself to be a thief running from the law and, still, regardless of that dangerous tidbit of information, she wanted him.

It was everything about him that made her want him, not just one singular thing; The way he dressed, so impeccably and richly, the way he reeked with power and the way he clearly was cultured and had experienced different things in life that Liz could only have dreamed of. The way he spoke about his travelling with such a passion, and the way his voice sounded; a hypnotic undertone. The way he held the door open for her, the way he gave her his coat. He was older than her age wise; Balding and stocky, but the disparity of age in a relationship was not something unheard of. She'd seen women going around with older men before.

Liz wanted him, she wanted to spend the night with him, hear him talk some more about whatever he wanted to talk about. Since last night upon first talking to her, she had immediately found him fascinating. He was going places in life. He had seen and done certain things in life that Liz would probably never get the opportunity to do or experience, and that made being around him both fascinating and equally nerve-wracking.

And like a book she had only just opened and began reading, she wanted to know more and more, until she finished the very last page.

Ignoring the feelings her body was giving her to retreat, she walked into the room, looking around curiously while Red moved about, making minor adjustments.

She watched anxiously as he plopped his hat down on the nightstand near the bed in the middle of the room and then he turned on a lamp, illuminating the room in a dull glow of pale yellow. Now that Liz could see more clearly, she noticed the one room was bigger than even the kitchen in the apartment that she lived in with her father. Flowers were decorated on the wallpaper and on the curtains, and she saw that the adjoining bathroom door was left wide-open. The bathrooms size itself was bigger than the one she had at home, and even the tub put the one she had at home to shame.

She felt her mouth go dry as she watched him pull the tail of his shirt out from where it was tucked neatly in around his trousers as he moved towards the window. The window was open, the wind rustling the curtains around quietly, and Liz watched him a while longer as he closed it shut and moved towards where a suitcase was lying on the ground near the bed. She heard him open it as he knelt, pulling something out, but she didn't fully know what that something was until he stood and turned towards the window again.

_A gun._ He was clasping a small handgun in his right hand, and he backed up towards the wall until his shoulders hit the plaster, peeking out through the curtains into the street below the room, as if paranoid someone had followed them back to the room. Considering his admission, Liz realized he probably had all the good reason in the world to be paranoid.

"Oh, boy," she laughed uncontrollably due to the shock. "You weren't fooling around, were you?"

It was the very last thing she was expecting him to do while he had her alone in his hotel room. His look was absorbed and concentrated on what was happening outside the room, his lip curling over slightly. Was he expecting them to be in some kind of trouble? For a shootout to happen? She prayed not... Not while she was in his room, at least.

She didn't want to disrupt him, for fear he'd unexpectedly turn the gun on her, so she waited in silence until he looked away, preoccupying himself in expertly opening the chamber on the gun and removing the bullets inside it. He obviously knew how to use a gun well, Liz thought, somewhat enviously. The bullets clinked in his palm as he strode back over to the night table, where he sat them carefully near the lamp.

Finally, his attention was brought back to her, when Liz cleared her throat awkwardly. "Are you expecting trouble?"

"No, I'm not. At least not any that I am aware of." Red shrugged and he placed the handgun on the night table, his hands moving towards the first button on his vest. Liz suddenly recalled she was still wearing his overcoat, so she distracted herself by turning away from him and staring elsewhere as she flung her arms out of the sleeves. "But with this lifestyle I lead," he went on calmly, "a man can certainly never be too cautious. Forgive me for all that; I didn't mean to scare you just then."

Scaring her was, surprisingly, the very last thing he had done. She found herself only just slightly disappointed that she hadn't asked him for a closer look. She huffed with silent laughter. "You didn't scare me," she replied, folding his overcoat neatly and placing it on the edge of the bed. "I've just never seen one before."

"You've never seen a gun before, Lizzie?"

"Never," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "Not a real one, anyway. Is it real? Or is it just a... toy? Something for show?" She wouldn't be able to tell the difference, either way.

"Really, Lizzie?" He made a tutting noise with his tongue at her all the way from where he stood. "I tell you who I am and that I have G-men constantly after me, and yet you're quick to assume the gun is just a toy?"

She turned to look back at him, finding him standing closer than she had anticipated. He was within arms reach of her, all he had to do was lift one of his hands up and touch her. She maybe would have even liked it if he did. The buttons on his vest was undone, his head tilted slightly to the side as he drank all of her in; Her clothes, her dark hair. Just as she had learned throughout the evening, he could be unnervingly intense with his gaze, and she had to glance away. She glanced away across the room, taking in the suitcase on the floor again.

"Have you been staying here long?"

"Yes. For exactly forty-eight hours."

The playful hint of sarcasm was not lost on her. She gave him a tight smile, then her gaze fell on where the gun was resting on the night stand again, without her control. She was aching to grab it, to feel how it felt to hold it in her hands. "Can I hold it?" she asked him in a voice below a whisper, feeling scandalous even by requesting such a thing.

She found that Red was staring at her with a quizzical expression, his eyebrows raised. "Hold what, Lizzie?"

"Why, your gun, of course. Can I hold your gun? I've never seen one before, no less so much as touched one. But you already know that, don't you?"

Red was silent for a moment as he considered. She could almost feel his mind churning, pondering on whether it was safe or not to let her- virtually still a stranger to him- hold his gun. "I suppose that can be arranged," he said after a moment, snatching the handgun up from the night stand. "It isn't loaded, and I have removed the bullets. Think of it as another safety precaution, Lizzie."

She felt a surge of excitement course through her in a terrible way as she moved closer to accept the gun from him. His fingers brushed against hers as she took the gun and held it tightly in her hand, her fingers curling tightly around it. It felt lighter than what she was expecting, the metal cool and metallic. Liz enjoyed it more than she probably ought to have, more than what was probably right of her, when she lifted her hand and pointed the nozzle of the gun at him.

There was something strangely erotic about holding a powerful and deadly weapon in your hand.

She felt self-conscious all of a sudden as Red stood back a step, scrutinizing the way she looked as she held the gun in her hand. She hoped the pleasure wasn't written all over her face for him to see, but considering the way he appeared to be looking at her, with a certain hazy lust shining in his eyes, she realized it was plain for him to see.

"It feels good, doesn't it Lizzie?" he asked her, smiling knowingly. "First time I held a gun, I was twelve years old, it was my father's hunting rifle, and my father punished me until I was black and blue over it." He sighed dramatically as he looked her up and down again appreciatively. "Regardless of all that, the beatings were worth it just to experience how it felt holding a gun in my hands. Never lost the feeling of it ever since, hence why I probably embarked on this lifestyle of mine. It's marvelous, isn't it? Just how good it feels?"

It disarmed her that he seemed to know how she was feeling over it perfectly. What did that make her then? The type of person he was? Wrong in the brain? Either way, it didn't matter to her right now. All that mattered, was how it felt.

"I feel like... like I could almost conquer the world with this," she whispered breathlessly.

"Yes, exactly. You and me both. Here," he added, getting closer to her, "Let me show you how it's properly done, Lizzie."

She felt his body brush against her as he moved behind her, one of his hands slipping over hers as it held onto the gun. Her arm shook and trembled as he guided her, lifting her arm higher, so that the gun was raised and pointing towards the window. She stretched her neck slightly to the side to peer at his face, finding him a hair's length from her, his gaze on her lips, what looked like nothing but desire in his eyes at the sight of her holding his weapon in her hand and him, helping her along. The whole thing, his closeness, the length of his body pressing against her back, was thrilling and wildly arousing on her; Something Liz hadn't felt before with a man. She heard her breathing change, her eyes were transfixed on his mouth, she couldn't seem able to look away from him.

She could not help wondering what his lips felt like on her, how he tasted, and he was close enough to kiss her, only much to her disappointment, he didn't. Despite their closeness and no doubt how obviously aroused she was reacting, he did nothing and she was brought out of it, when he made her forefinger squeeze the trigger and a hollow empty clicking sound broke the silence around the room.

"Oh, God," Red whispered roughly, making her finger squeeze down on the trigger again. "It's like music to my ears. The sound." She felt oddly rejected and hurt, when he stepped away from her quickly, dropping his hands at his sides. "Forgive me," he said hastily, as if he didn't realize she enjoyed him being near her, invading her space. _But then why else did he invite her into his hotel room, if he wasn't going to try anything on her? _"Am I making you uncomfortable, Lizzie?"

"N-no," she said. "You're not making me feel uncomfortable." She sat his gun carefully on the bed spread. "I... I actually think I should go," she muttered quickly, only just remembering her father and how he would be waiting on her. "My father's waiting on me. I should probably go before he gets worried sick about me." _And clearly you have no intentions of having me stay_, she wanted to say out loud to him, but she didn't. "Thank you, it's been a... swell time." She couldn't help the hardness in her tone, the offense. "I wish you all the best."

Without another word, she rushed towards the door and left, perturbed by how she had felt by everything; By him, the revelation of who he was and what he did unlawfully yet still feeling aroused by him, by holding his gun. Clearly something was wrong with her; It was surely not a natural nor sane reaction.

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**A/N: I do hope this chapter was all right. :) Feel free to review and let me know. It means a lot. Sorry if this chapter is crappy or if the entire thing is in general, I get so anxious when updating.**  
**Hope you all have a wonderful Christmas.**


	4. Going to make You Famous

_**I own nothing to do with the Blacklist. I am just a fan and distracting myself from its hiatus, until it returns.**_

_**Thank you all so much for your lovely words. I tend to get very anxious when I update, so it means a lot to read your kind words of encouragements. Even the follows and alerts are really positive and reassuring to me. I do hope you enjoy this one ;)**_

_**Hope you had a wonderful Christmas and great start to the New Year!**_

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_**Chapter Four**_

Elizabeth was halfway down the stairs when she stopped on the last step, uncertain on what she wanted. She felt immediately foolish, running out on him abruptly like she just had. She bit down on her lip with her front teeth, wondering whether she ought to just turn around and go back upstairs to his room again. A part of her didn't want to leave just yet. A part of her was telling her it was impolite of her, that she would regret it for the rest of her life if she never saw him again.

She felt as if she was being pathetic. She certainly had never felt this way about a man before; so conflicted over what she wanted. She hadn't met many men that she had liked, or felt immediately attracted to. Not many had expressed their interest in her, not that she cared. Usually she was too busy to even think about men; Her life revolved around taking care of her father and working her fingers to the bone so that she could afford to put decent food on the table for them to survive and make do for a good week or two. Men hardly ever came into the equation.

Belatedly, she realized the hotel clerk was watching her from behind his counter so she made herself get into moving again towards the exit, her heels clicking after her. She caught sight of the newspaper in the magazine rack near the counter and as she approached, she saw the image on the first page and felt her heart stop for one single second in her chest.

"Sir, do you mind if I take this?" she asked the clerk, reaching over and removing the _Chicago Daily Tribune_ paper from its slot in the rack.

The clerk clearly took pity on her, because he said, "That's fine, Miss. We were just going to throw it out later on anyway."

"Thank you." She worked a smile on her lips and left, holding the newspaper tightly in her hand. She could do some background reading later in the privacy of her bedroom.

Once she reached the apartment she lived in with her father, she unlocked it and quietly slipped inside, kicking off her shoes. As she tiptoed upstairs and along the hallway, she could faintly hear her father snoring in his room. She was relieved; At least she wouldn't have to try to explain to her father why she had been kept out for so long, when he was already fast asleep. Liz hated the thought of having to conjure up some lie to tell her father into where she had been and why it had taken her so long to return home after work.

Heading into her bedroom, she shut the door as quietly as she possibly could, then rested her forehead against the cool wood, trying to regulate her breathing. Then with hands that wouldn't seem to stop trembling, she crossed over to her bed and switched on the night lamp on her night table, sitting against her stack of pillows as she spread the newspaper carefully open on her bed spread.

Red certainly hadn't been lying. Maybe it was a case of denial, but she hadn't been entirely sure whether to believe him, about all that business he had admitted to. Now, seeing the black-and-white photo gracing the front page of the newspaper, denial was next to impossible now.

He was who he said he was, indeed.

Although the black-and-white mugshot was smudged and smeared with ink from various fingers at the hotel touching it, she knew it was him. Holding a placard that stated his height and the general basics, he had a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he stared directly into the lens of the camera. The photo was of the very same man she had spent the evening with; The very same man who had introduced her to her first alcoholic beverage, an Aviation cocktail. The same man who had let her hold his gun and let her experience how it felt to hold such an empowering and deadly weapon. And the very same man she had felt so tempted to kiss and be intimate with, up there, in his room.

The bold black lettering on the headline read:

GET REDDINGTON!

$15,000 Reward, Dead or Alive.

Notify any Sheriff or Chief of Police of Chicago

or THIS BUREAU:

CHICAGO STATE BUREAU OF CRIMINAL INDENTIFICATION

AND INVESTIGATION.

He was wanted for several robberies around the country, as well as the manslaughter of two police officers, as well as several other casualties of ordinary citizens. The paper warned everyone to be on the lookout, that he was usually heavily armed and dangerous, often wearing a bulletproof vest. Take no unnecessary chances with this man, the article said. He is thoroughly prepared to shoot his way out of anything. A man called Donald Ressler was put in charge of the main investigation of taking Raymond Reddington down. Any information should be directed straight to him. Any significant information about his whereabouts could get the person a five-thousand-dollar reward alone.

Liz knew the right thing to do was probably reporting to this man in charge of the investigation, this Donald Ressler, or someone in authority that she knew of Raymond Reddington's whereabouts, that he was here, in Chicago, and that she had only just spent a couple of hours with the very man. But considering the raid that had taken place at the club Ellie had brought her to last night, no doubt the police were already onto it and had already suspected as much. What good would it do, if she contacted anyone? They probably already knew, and she decided she would rather die than collect any reward they offered her for that information.

Any woman in her position probably would have done the right thing, as a law-abiding citizen, in contacting the police immediately. Yet Liz reasoned that the police probably already knew he was currently in Chicago, and that in doing so would be a wasted- and pointless- effort. And besides, she felt a sudden, strange sense of loyalty to the man. Why would she bother dobbing him in when he was doing something right and lashing out on the banks and those that unfairly made it harder to get by in the current economic crisis they were going through?

Licking her lips, she studied the photograph more closely, deciding it was a prison mugshot, probably taken at the very prison he had confessed he broke out of merely four days ago. The feelings that came over her just by studying the photograph disarmed her and made her wonder if there was something seriously wrong with her. Just like tonight, as he was standing behind her, showing her how to properly hold and aim his gun, she felt that same desire course through her.

Now that she knew his idenitity for sure and how seriously he was in trouble by the law, it didn't seem to change her feelings at all. She was not entirely sure why. She felt attracted to him, and for some reason, she felt that attraction for him soar to a higher level now that she saw how much of a wanted figure he was, and just how much a bounty was on his head.

She had been struggling to put a decent amount of food on the table for her father and pay the bills for awhile now. Working ridiculous hours of the night hadn't helped any, and they were barely scraping by. This Raymond Reddington was worth a big sum of money. She tried to imagine herself luring him in and causing him to get captured, and how she would get a big reward afterwards. Fifteen-thousand was a lot of money; Money that, if she had, her and her father would never have struggle to get by ever again. She could even afford to get the proper medicine and a doctor to help treat her father and make him better. She fantasized for a moment how life would be, how easy and wonderful, with all that money.

But then she found the thought of turning Red in too... somehow inconceivable. It made her stomach roll unpleasantly, the thought of her deceiving someone in such a way.

Liz always thought she would have better sense as a young-woman, to know when to not get involved with someone, and to make good, proper judgment on who she should associate with, and who she shouldn't. All of this didn't seem to change the fact that she wanted him.

She _didn't care_, Liz realized then.

She didn't care who he was or what he did, or the fact that he was in trouble. Big, big trouble. The newspapers painted him as this dangerous, menacing monster; A man that destroyed properties, was ruthless, and had killed many innocent civilians, as well as a couple of lawmen.

All that mattered was how he had made her feel, in that short time of being around him.

He made her feel as if she was someone special, someone worthy of being treated with respect. He had acted like nothing else but a true gentleman towards her tonight, not some vicious, wanted criminal. He made her feel as if he felt she was someone he could take out to extravagant places, wining and dining her with expensive meals.

The fact he made front-page on the newspapers only just made him all the more alluring to her. She found she could not wait until she saw him again and was in his company.

Once Liz was done with scrutinizing his photo in the paper and reading through the article several times, she slid it safely under her bed and made the attempt to get a goodnight's sleep. Sleep came easier to her this night.

XXX

She was working, doing the same boring tedious work she always did, at the Steuben Club. Then it happened. Out of nowhere, gunshots echoed and cracked around the room. People screamed and ducked for cover, huddling down on the marbled floor, covering their faces, their heads. She was the only one who hadn't bothered hiding from where she was behind the counter. She felt brave, unafraid and unaffected by the shots being fired around the room. If anything, it excited her and thrilled her on some deep, perverse level.

And then there _he_ was, worming his way into her vision, both hands clasped over his handgun, fedora on his head, looking deceptively calm and as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be doing, in shooting bullets around her workplace and scaring all of the customers in the process.

People on the floor were whispering and panting, and Liz heard a woman squeal in fear as he disregarded every single person in the room to march towards where she was standing, behind the counter. The muzzle of the gun was pointing directly at her chest, but she felt not a flinch or frisson of fear overcome her. His eyes held hers for a long moment, and she stared back unwaveringly, feeling a twinge of excitement and this staggering, raging need for him.

He made a silent gesture with the muzzle of his gun for her to come out from behind the counter and without a thought into her own personal safety in doing such a careless thing, she did, stepping over a woman's legs as she huddled on the marbled floor in fear. In an exaggeratedly slow move, as if he didn't want to startle her, Liz watched as one of his hands loosened in its grip around the gun and then he was holding his hand out to her, fingers splayed and invitingly teasing her to take hold of it, and go off with him.

"You're _with me_ now," he finally spoke after a moment, his voice soft and rumbly. His eyes held hers in, and her gaze darted uncontrollably between his lips and his eyes, unsettled on just where she wanted to look. "I'm going to make you famous, Lizzie. You're going to be known as Raymond Reddington's girl." It was a promise, and it made her feel breathless, the sincerity of the vow.

Her heart skipped a beat as she heard sirens from police automobiles in the not too-faint distance. They were closing in on them. She had to be quick. "All right," she agreed in a rush, and just as her hand was clenching over his, her eyes popped open and the darkness of her room was surrounding her. She sat up slowly, her heart pounding in her chest, sweat covering her body, this strange feeling of depression sinking over her and pulling her under.

It was only a dream. Just a mere dream, and it_ was unfair_.

_"I'm going to make you famous, Lizzie. You're going to be known as Raymond Reddington's girl."_

If only.

_If only..._


	5. Promises

**_Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with the Blacklist._**

**_Thank you all so much for taking the time to review and read the story. It means a lot to me! Hope you enjoy this chapter! As usual, I'd love to know your thoughts!_**

**_Chapter Five_**

When Elizabeth woke up the next morning, she spent a good few minutes getting properly dressed and ready for her day at work. Then she went across the hallway to her father's room, knocked loudly so he knew she was coming in, and she opened the door to peer nervously at where her father lay, in bed. She found he was already fully awake and alert, and he shifted slightly against the pillows so he could watch her. It unnerved Liz to see how quickly her father seemed to be aging; Sam was still young in her eyes, a man just only fifty-eight years old and already, his body was failing him.

Since he spent most of his days in bed and rarely shaved or gave a rat's tail about his appearance, he looked a decade older than what he really was, she thought worriedly, as she observed him. He had grey stubble around his chin and his skin was jaundiced. He looked like a man in his nineties rather than a man in his late fifties, and it was horrifying that she couldn't do anything to make him better.

Entering his room, she caught a whiff of a terrible smell floating around and she dashed over towards the windowsill and battled to open the window to let some fresh air in. The window was stiff and it took some serious elbow grease to finally wrench it open, but she heard the relieved sigh her father gave out once clean air breezed in.

"I have to be getting to work in a minute, Daddy," she told him softly. "Are you going to be getting out of bed at all today?" Really, she knew it wasn't Sam's fault, and if he had any say in it, he'd be out and about most of the day, walking around and getting things done. But his body wasn't complying with his wishes and so the bed was the only place he could stand to be in.

"I'll try, sweetie pie."

"Well, you should." She turned to look at him sympathetically and their eyes met and held for a long minute. So many times she had wished he would magically wake up the next morning and feel better, but she had been wishing it for too long and it never came true, so she tried not to bother with it anymore. "Is there anything I can do for you before I go? Do you need some food or water?"

Suddenly her father looked anguished at her question and she knew it was because he didn't like her waiting on him. "If I need something, I'll go very well get it myself. I don't want you worrying too much about me, all right? You don't need to baby me, Liz. If anything, I'm your old man and I should be babying you. You _are_ my baby, after all." When she couldn't help but smile at his words, he laughed; The laugh sounding more like a dogs bark than anything. "Speaking of babies... when are you going to get married?" Her father would always ask her that constantly lately. Not that she minded.

But she got the feeling Sam expected to be dying soon, and once he did, he wanted her to have some kind of life to fall back on and not just one that involved taking care of him night and day in between the hours of work.

"When someone asks me," she said, with a smile.

"Has someone asked you yet?"

"Of course not, Daddy. But I did meet someone," she admitted cautiously. She didn't want to tell Sam too much, or to give away too much. Especially considering the man she had met and found herself dying to be with was the very same man everyone under the sun was looking for. "He was real... nice. He took me out for a drink last night. That was why I was so late home the way I was."

"Has he asked you to marry him?"

She laughed out loud at the question, feeling a warm gush of heat spread across her face. Imagine that; Getting married to a wanted fugitive and living life constantly on the run from lawmen. How ridiculous. How... _exciting_. "He's not the marrying kind, Daddy."

Sam squinted up at her in confusion. "How do you know he isn't? He said that outright?"

"I just do, and I know he isn't."

Her father sighed loudly and sat up carefully against the bedframe, his bones cracking. "You know I don't expect you to hang around looking after your old man for the rest of your life. I want you to be happy."

"Who says I'm not happy? I _am_ happy."

"But you fuss around for me too much," he said seriously, regret shining in his grey eyes. "Let's face it, sweetie pie; Sooner or later, I'm not gonna be around anymore and I want you to start thinking of yourself for a change. You wanna know what will truly make this old man happy?"

She swallowed against a dry lump in her throat. "What?"

"To see my baby girl have a life of her own. I wanna see you meet a man, get married, and have a life for yourself. From this point forward, I don't want you coddling your old man anymore. I want you to get out there and live, and do something that'll make you happy for once. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. I can take care of myself, and you know I can."

"But I'm happy," she said defensively. "And why wouldn't I help take care of you? You're my father, I'm happy to take care of you, you're allowed to bother me and make me take care of you." She stared down at him seriously. "After all, I'm just repaying you for all the times you did it for me, as a little girl and all throughout my childhood. Why wouldn't I take care of you and make for certain that you're going to be fine while I'm gone at work working?"

"I just don't want you to do it so much anymore, okay?"

She shrugged, raising her eyebrows at him challengingly, "Then tough. You don't like it, then that's too bad."

"You're young. You go do something for yourself for a change and have fun. As I said, I'll be perfectly fine here. You know I always am."

"That's enough talk on this, Daddy," she warned him. "I don't care what you say. I'm your daughter and, of course, I'm going to be looking after you. No matter what you say, it won't change anything. I have to go." She bent down to kiss him on his cheek and Sam moved his head out of the way, looking out the open window instead and ignoring her. She was used to this; Whenever she said or did something her father didn't agree with, he'd always play this card with her. "Do you want me to close the window before I leave? Does it feel too cold?"

Despite him ignoring her, her father could never last too long. His resolve broke at a mere question. "Please don't, honey. I need the fresh air. Feels nice on my skin." He closed his eyes for a moment. When he reopened his eyes, he finally looked up at her. His game of avoidance was finished. "Don't bother coming home too early, okay? You go out, have some fun with this fella you were just telling me about. Get him to marry you, okay?"

_If only her father knew the type of man she was really hinting to..._

"I'm going now. You sure there isn't anything I can do for you?"

"Turn on the radio for me, will you? I want to listen." Obediently she switched on the knob on the radio for him, cranking up the volume a fraction higher. They were currently talking about the FBI's plans on making a war on crime, which Hoover set into motion. She heard the tinny voice on the radio talk about Raymond Reddington, about how he was Number One, and she felt her heart jump in her chest. "Good on 'em, I'll say," her father said, strong on the matter. "The banks have it coming to them. It's what they deserve."

Liz regarded her father with some surprise. "Don't let any cops hear you say that, Daddy," she muttered wryly. She never pegged her father to be supportive over what the criminals were doing. "How can you possibly say that? We're supposed to think what their doing is wrong."

"Well, it's about time somebody fought back. At the banks, I mean. You remember that dear old lady next door?"

"I do. What happened to her? Last I heard, she isn't living in her apartment anymore."

"Well, you have the banks to thank for that," he grumbled grudgingly. "Poor thing couldn't pay out her loan that she got from the bank. They took everything, put her out on the street. It's about time somebody was brave enough to fight back for once." Her father was evidently opinionated on the matter. It was clearly something he felt strong about. A fire was there in his eyes; a determined glint to them that she hadn't seen in quite some time. "I always knew he'd do it," he went on quietly. "I could tell he was going to be somebody big. I always knew he had it in him. It was just a matter of when..."

"Who?" Liz was confused. She had no idea who he was talking about. "Who's this?"

_Was he talking about Reddington, or was it just all in her head? Did her father somehow know him? _Liz figured she was being paranoid if... slightly obsessive. After her dream last night, which was something she wasn't too proud about, she knew she was in deep over her head. She wanted the man, despite everything. Regardless of rhyme or reason, she wanted him. Apparently nothing could change that.

Unfortunately she never got her answer. With a grunt, Sam waved her away. "You better get going before you get too late, honey," he said dismissively, licking his parched lips. "Don't be coming home too early tonight. You have fun for once, all right?"

XXX

She was almost hoping her dream would come true.

That Raymond Reddington would storm into her boring place of employment, fire shots all around the room like a madman, and that he'd whisk her away with him. It didn't stop her from constantly glancing around the room or looking for him wishfully. She rolled her eyes at herself for being the way she was, as she hung up a man's tweed coat. This was clearly not normal and she was being so... so pathetic. It was definitely not like her to be so hung up over a man, especially not one of his caliber.

She thought back to her father's words this morning. Her father found it all rather heroic and was supportive on what various criminals were doing, in taking the banks money. So did that justify how she was feeling? If her father was commending Raymond Reddington for what he was unlawfully doing, did that make it excusable for her to be head over heels for the man? It certainly didn't make her feel so badly and as if something was wrong with her, when Sam himself was deeming it all right of them.

When she well and truly finished work, she considered heading straight home. But then again, her father did tell her to stay out late tonight. He wanted her to have some fun, to have a good night out for once. She knew where Raymond Reddington was staying- if he was even still at that same hotel, that is. She deliberated going to where he was. Heaven knows she was excited by the idea of seeing him again. _But would he himself want or mind that, if she did return to his hotel room out of her own volition? Or would he consider her a pest and a nuisance?_

Maybe she could make up some excuse as to see him again? A believable one. But there were no valid excuses she could come up with inside her head. She decided she'd just have to only tell him the truth, that she wanted to see him again plain and simple, and hopefully he wouldn't find it imposing when she did.

After last night when he showed her the way to where he was staying, she found she knew the way from heartbeat now. It took her barely ten minutes to find herself standing outside the tan bricked, three-story building of the hotel he was staying at. As she pushed through the doors and approached the clerk around the desk, she was about to ask for Raymond Reddington but, luckily, she caught herself just in time and asked for a Mr. Gibbons instead- the fake name he had currently booked the room under.

To her relief, he was clearly still staying at the same hotel room, which the man behind the desk confirmed and told her the directions. He recognized her as that same woman from last night, so he had no hesitation in telling her which room Red was staying in. Second floor. Room 16.

Liz was still wondering about a passable-enough excuse when she climbed up the flight of stairs, taking two steps at a time in her heels. It occurred to her that she was hurrying, as if she was a desperate woman, so she deliberately made herself slow down and take several deep breaths in. _What was wrong with her? How could she ever let herself become this affected by a man?_

On the second floor, she started walking down the narrow hallway, glancing at the fancy signs on the doors. And then, there it was, Room 16. In a shallow moment, she made sure her hair was smooth and neat, that her clothing was still neatly in place and wrinkle-free, before she raised her knuckles and knocked hesitantly against the wood several times. She stepped back quickly, filling her lungs with oxygen, feeling her heart thumping in anticipation. She heard someone move towards the door and as it opened, she felt her heart sink. A man was in there- he shoved his face through the crack to look her over- but it wasn't Raymond Reddington.

No, this man had a disturbing air about him. Hair slicked back and greasy with brylcreem, cold grey eyes, moustache. He appeared about the same age as Reddington, but she had never seen him before ever in her entire life. Yet with the dramatic softening of his expression and the way he looked her over carefully, she got the impression he knew her. Well, _knew of her_ at least.

"Ah, so this is the infamous Lizzie girl?" he said in a low voice with amusement glistening in his grey eyes at her, and Liz caught a certain lilt to his voice. He was from somewhere other than Chicago. Some other part of the world, maybe. "Raymond speaks a lot about you, on and on, about... fate. He's so obsessed with you. He go on and on about you, all the time. He got it bad."

_Red obsessed with her? How can that possibly be? They have only just practically met after all, haven't they?_

He leaned his shoulder against the door lazily, causing it to spill open, and Liz swallowed when she watched him lift a cigarette to his mouth and take a puff of it, his eyes staring into hers all the while. She noticed he had no left hand. There was just a sleeve with no hand there. Leaving the cigarette dangling in his mouth, he extended his only hand out towards her. "Milos."

Trying to appear unaffected, she forced a smile on her lips and accepted the proffered hand, giving it a quick shake. "Uh, it's... nice to meet you. And you already know my name, it seems."

His hand tightened over hers and for an unnerving moment, he wouldn't let hers go free, until he realized a long train of ash was building at the tip of his cigarette that needed to be quickly disposed of. He gave out a short laugh and at last let her hand go, removing the cigarette from his mouth quickly and flicking the ash on the floor at his feet.

He looked her over one last time, particularly her legs in the wrap skirt she was wearing, before he made a deep grunting noise and shrugged. "I let you go talk to Raymond in privacy," he said, his cigarette moving against his lips with the words, and stepping back he waved with his one hand for her to go into the room. "The girl is here, Raymond," he called into the room, taking a long drag of the cigarette again. "You say your proper goodbyes before we leave, huh?"

She kept her eyes trained on the peculiar man as he waltzed leisurely down the narrow hallway, bringing trains of smoke trailing along with him. She was curious, if yet disturbed, on the story of how he come to have no left hand. Something told her she probably would be better off not knowing. She had no idea why Red would want to associate with such an intimidating man like him, then again, she had to remind herself of just who Raymond Reddington was. He was a criminal on the run from the law. It shouldn't have been such a surprise that he associated with such a seedy character.

She hesitated before taking a step into his hotel room, looking around nervously. She was almost expecting another man to appear, but as far as she could see, the room was empty, which relieved her to no end. She heard the faucet running in the bathroom and someone was washing their hands, she gathered.

She wasn't sure who that someone was, until Red stepped out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on a hand cloth. She felt suddenly speechless as she stared at him, and he stared back, with a strange look she couldn't identify. She could tell, along with that focused and intent look, that he was pleased she had made the decision to return to his room. She just wasn't completely sure why.

"You've returned."

"Yeah. I guess I have."

He looked even better than she remembered. Her dream of him hadn't done him any sort of justice. He was wearing a white dress shirt and light grey trousers that were held up by suspenders around his shoulders.

"And I see you just met Milos," he began conversationally, and he disappeared off into the bathroom again for a quick moment. When he returned back to her, his hands were empty of the cloth and he was rubbing them together. The shirtsleeves were folded up to his elbows. "What did you think of him? Had I known you would be returning, I would have prevented you from all of that. Did you see how Milos only has one hand?"

"It was kind of hard not to," she whispered, her voice terribly breathless.

"Yes. The man is a fool." She noticed his hands moved as he talked enthusiastically on the subject. "Attempted to fake his death by sawing his hand off and leaving it there as the only last physical evidence of his existence when he escaped from prison. Next morning, they caught sight of him out and about and the entire hand-thing was utterly unnecessary. The fool foiled his own ploy in faking his death by being seen out and about in broad daylight. He likes to ham up the story from time to time, however, in making the story far worse than it truly was."

"Right." The man, Milos, his words, came back to her. She couldn't make sense of them at all. "We just had a very strange conversation. Apparently you're obsessed with me?"

There was a heartbeat's worth of awkwardness- on her part, anyway- before he simply said, "Yes."

Her brows furrowed as she watched him get something. She wasn't sure whether to take him at face-value or not on that, because, how could he possibly come to be obsessed with her? She was a nobody and they hadn't once met before, had they? How on earth could somebody be obsessed with her?

Her eyes focused on what he was holding carefully in between his hands. It was a package, and he sat it on the top of the bed before he himself sat, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs, his eyes fixated on nothing else but her. She had no idea what she was doing, but when he reached over and patted the empty space on the mattress near him, she was thankful to have something to do. She sat nervously, twisting her leg on top of the other, folding her hands over her kneecap. Even then, she saw out of the corner of her eye that he was silently watching her.

"I have something for you," he said meaningfully through the silence, his voice soft.

"You do? You have something for me?"

"Yes." As if to make it more clear on her, he pushed the package towards her near the side of her leg. Well, this was unexpected, to say the least.

"What's this?" she asked, looking over at him in surprise.

"It's just a small gift," he said, shrugging dismissively. "I saw them and it made me think of you."

Leaning over across the bed, he picked up the wrapped package and handed it to her carefully. Whatever was inside, it felt light. She picked at the string around the package, noticing how he shifted slightly on the bed so he could watch, both hands on each knee. She could feel his gaze on her, no doubt waiting to see her reaction to the gift.

"You shouldn't have done this." She turned and looked at him suspiciously. "Why would you?"

"Does a man have to have a reason to buy a woman a gift?"

"I don't think this is a good thing, you buying me a gift. I don't even know you and you don't even know me."

"Oh, just open it, Lizzie. And I know you more than you think."

Since he seemed eager for her to open it and see what he had brought her, she picked the string completely apart and opened the box up.

Inside there were three dresses, made of luxurious silk and satin, one red with a fur trim. She held the red one up and felt tears gather in her eyes. The dresses were absolutely beautiful and finely made. They definitely were above and beyond what she could afford. She felt a tear roll down her cheek and she sat the dress carefully back inside the tissue paper, then lifted her hands up to wipe around her face quickly. She inhaled in an unsteady breath, scolding herself for seeming weak. Last thing she wanted to do was get emotional in front of him.

"Don't you like them, Lizzie?" His voice was quiet, and when she turned to look at him again, he was observing her concernedly with his head tilted to the side. "I wasn't sure what size you were, but I can always get them altered if need be."

"I appreciate that you did it, the gesture with the gift," she said slowly, covering the package back over carefully. "But I can't accept these, Red. They're the most beautiful dresses I've ever seen in my entire life, and no man has ever brought me a gift before, but I just..." She moved to place the package back on the bed in the space between them. "I just can't accept these."

His reaction was strange to her lack of acceptance of the gifts. Clearly he hadn't expected it from her. He sighed loudly through his nostrils and she watched him nod a couple of times as he worked his mouth, his forehead scrunched.

"You can't or you won't?"

"I can't. I won't." A weary laugh escaped her mouth. "Just imagine what my father would think, if I returned home with all of these fancy and expensive dresses. How could I even possibly begin to explain to him why I have them without mentioning you?"

"So tell him," he said casually, and he reached over to give her knee a quick pat. "Tell Sam that Raymond Reddington brought you those. I am sure he'll make an allowance then."

She was still overwhelmed by the beauty of the dresses and the generous gesture of him buying her, a stranger he hardly knew, a gift, that his words didn't sink in until a moment later. _Sam._ He called her father Sam. He _knew_ her fathers name. She couldn't remember telling him last night, no less mentioning her father's name. She definitely hadn't. _So how did he know? How?_

She felt an odd prickling sensation dance across her skin, as she thought it all through. Did her father somehow know Raymond Reddington? If so, how could he possibly? Never once did she think her father would be friends with a wanted criminal. It seemed far too... impossible, somehow.

"Sam?" She whispered after a moment, turning to face him. His expression was utterly unreadable. It gave nothing away, frustrating of all. "You know that my father's name is Sam? I never told you that, at least not that I remember. Do you two know each other?"

As if an invisible hand had come along and swiped that blank expression off his face, she noticed he appeared instantly somehow uncomfortable by the question. His forehead creased as he focused on her again, always with that unnervingly intense look; The one he had given her all last night at the restaurant he had taken her out to and, afterwards, when watching her holding his gun.

He cleared his throat gently and she heard his audible swallow. "I know Sam, yes," he admitted, his voice low, somehow rumbly and vulnerable. "Well, I _knew_ him, many years ago. Before all of this." He gestured towards himself and then around the room, before clasping his hands tightly together in his lap again. "We were old friends. I haven't had the chance to talk to him in years, being as constantly on the move as I am to different locations. And it wouldn't be safe. The last thing I would want to do, in all of the world, is somehow bring the cops to you or to your father, assimilating any kind of connection."

She realized how awkward it was. She had been going delirious with wanting this man, and yet, as it turned out, he was good pals with her father. She desired her father's friend. It was bizarre.

"You said your father was sick and that was why you work, as you do? Because your father is sick and you couldn't afford anything otherwise. Just how sick is he?"

She felt confused then. And foolish. And maybe a little played. Was this the sole reason he appeared interested in her in the first place? Because he wanted to use her to get information off her into the state of his old friend's wellbeing, since he could not very well just go and see him himself?

"I... I'm not sure. But he stays in bed all day. It's as far as I know." There was an odd sensation as if the floor was proverbially opening up on her and swallowing her whole. How could she have been so foolish? "I'm sorry I came back here. I... I don't know what I'm doing."

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far," he remarked, something there in his tone, hidden among all the lightness and frivolity in it. "I think you know exactly what you are doing here. And why. After all, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it, Lizzie?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're exactly like your father. Like how I remembered him."

"You don't even know me, so don't presume to know me."

"Perhaps you're right." He was eyeing her speculatively, amusement and some type of fondness glistening in his eyes. "Your father and I, when we were boys, we once went over into the neighbors yard at Sam's house when he was a boy and we would steal chickens. I'd have two struggling chickens under both arms, while your father would have two struggling chickens under his arms. And there was nothing more thrilling, nothing more... addictive than how it felt to do what we did, in stealing the neighbors chickens."

Liz had no idea whether he was making up some story or not, but it hardly sounded like anything her father would do. Still, Red's tale sounded completely sincere, like he truly was a man reflecting on the joys of his childhood with his friend.

"Afterwards, your father said to me that it was the funniest thing he had ever done in his entire life, in stealing that neighbors chickens. And that neighbor, he saw us and he was running after us, but we managed to lose him." He gave out a deep, amused grunting noise from in the base of his throat, his eyes wet and faraway. "And last night, when you held my gun, I saw it in your eyes. The thrill, how... addictive it felt, to hold that gun in your hands. Exactly just like how Sam felt when stealing the chickens and eluding the neighbors wrath and punishment. _That_ was how I knew, last night, that you were Sam Milhoan's girl, under no uncertain terms."

"So you and my father were friends as children?" she asked slowly.

He nodded, a fond smile turning up the corners of his mouth. "Yes. Your father and I were old childhood friends. And then I saw you, the night before at the club, and I had no idea at the time. It's bizarre, just how small the world can sometimes be, isn't it, Lizzie? You were that... _same_ girl...and now, look at you! Working as a coat-check girl and having overcome so much!" He sighed loudly and shook his head, as if he couldn't believe it. "Sam's daughter. And you're beautiful, and you're bored, and you are wanting more from life. You want that same thrill that Sam felt over the chickens."

How it was possible for him to read her and look into her mind that well, she had no idea. But he was absolutely right. Of course, he was.

"And _me_..." He gave her a closed-lipped, somewhat rueful smile, as he reached over and took one of her hands in his. She felt her heart pick up a notch as he turned her hand over with his fingers and she realized what he was doing and why, when he peered down contemplatively at the scar on her wrist. Her stomach flopped and danced. "I'm going to be your metaphorical chicken, Lizzie." He started brushing his thumb gently over the burn on her wrist, and along with his words, his passionate words, there was nothing quite as seductive as all of this. "Before I die, I promise you above all else, that that is what I am going to be for you."

Since he was already near her, in her personal space, she reached up with her free hand and ran it up along his shoulder, feeling the expensive texture and fabric of the shirt he was wearing.

Then she slid her hand behind the back of his neck, held it there, and she edged slightly closer on the bed, until she felt his warm breath on her face. Their faces were close, she could hear her breathing automatically change, and she heard his do so as well. As like last night, she looked at his lips, and she felt temped as all hell to kiss him, she ached deeply with wanting to know what his lips felt like on her, how they tasted. Before she knew it, his lips were, he was kissing her while his arms went around her back, and she pushed into him, deepening the kiss.

And oh boy, did it feel good to her.

**Well, I hope you enjoyed this one. **

**Feel free to let me know your thoughts or any ideas you have. I have tried to keep the characters as close to the show as possible, despite the AU and difference in time, but I may have failed with it all. :) Thank you! Sorry if it's bad *runs and hides in bush***


	6. An Obsessed Agent

_**I own nothing to do with the Blacklist. **_

_**Sorry I took so long to update this story, I do hope you enjoy this one. :) Hoping you're still interested!**_

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_**Chapter Six**_

Special Agent Donald Ressler often wondered whether or not he had gotten himself in too deep, after having agreed to be leading the investigation on the Raymond Reddington case. Not only was his social life dwindling, but so was the state of his marriage and his relationship with his only child.

Frankly, he blamed Raymond "Red" Reddington for that.

After having worked his ass off to successfully get a law degree from the University of South Carolina at age eighteen, he finally decided he wanted a career in law enforcement. After getting married to his high school sweetheart Audrey, by chance he was placed in charge of the Chicago head office by the very man he had looked up to and aspired to be like ever since graduating from university, the great Bureau of Investigation Director, J. Edgar Hoover, himself. Things had seemed to go upwards since that day Hoover assigned him the honor; On one manhunt that he had led, he had assisted in taking down Tom Keen, who had been known to the F.B.I as one of Reddington's associates.

With that feat in mind and impressed by Donald having successfully taken down Tom Keen while in charge at the Chicago office, Hoover had assigned Donald to a more prestigious role, as the leader of the investigation to take down Raymond "Red" Reddington. Ever since that fateful day five years ago, Donald had only had a run-in with Reddington once, and that was three years later, when information had been given by an anonymous source into the whereabouts of Reddington. Donald gathered a team of the most trusted and skilled persons in his office and they had taken an arduous eight-hour-flight straight into Brussels, Belgium.

Fortunately for them, the souce hadn't been stringing them along. They found Reddington in the hotel room that he was staying at, as tipped off by the source who had recognized him from his shot in the papers, and though Reddington was usually heavily armed wearing a bulletproof vest, he hadn't been that day. Just their luck, he had been unprepared and caught off-guard. Early next morning, they had Reddington in full custody and were deporting him back into the states, where he had a cozy cell to himself waiting for him at Crown Point Penitentiary; A high maximum security prison for troubled and high-profile outlaws.

Just only barely under four days ago, while helping wife Audrey with their kid, two-year old Catherine, with putting her to bed and reading her a story, he had gotten the unpleasant call. Reddington had by some miracle escaped from the high maximum penitentiary; A prison that had a reputation for being one of the most difficult prisons in the states for any prisoner to flee from.

Ressler still wasn't entirely sure how Reddington had managed to pull it off.

Obsessively, days after the unpleasant news, he had stayed awake all night into the late hours of the morning, trying to figure it all out for himself. It was really like a bad joke. No other inmate at Crown Point had successfully pulled off an escape before. That meant that Reddington was far more intelligent and organized than the usual outlaw; In all things considered, realistically he had to be, otherwise how could he have alluded being caught all those years? In this, it showed that not only was Reddington more intelligent and cunning from the norm, but that he also had connections; Connections that had somehow managed to assist in helping him flee from the prison.

Ressler still recalled with unease the moment he had come face to face with the menace after having escorted him to the airplane to take him back into the States. Even by simply looking at Reddington while he was secured in handcuffs that day had been enough to set Ressler on edge. The fugitive had an air about him that was not only smarmy, but arrogant; A certain way about him, as if he knew something they all didn't know. Reddington had been too compliant in allowing himself to be captured in Brussels. What grinded at Ressler the most, was what Reddington had said to him as he escorted him to the plane. In fact, the conversation still haunted him ever since.

"You better take a last look at that blue sky, Reddington," Donald had said brusquely, "Because its the last time you will ever get the chance to see it. You've got a nice and cozy cell waiting for you at Crown Point, a cell that you're likely gonna be in for the rest of your life. Better admire that sun and the clear blue day we're experiencing while you have the chance."

The sound of Reddington's laughter and response still haunted Ressler, something he thought about often. "Yes, well. We'll see about that, won't we?"

Reddington had sounded too carefree and easy-breezy that day. Now Ressler was obsessing over whether it had been a hint, a hint that he had been oblivious to, at the time. The bastard must have known he would somehow find a way to accomplish escaping from his cell in the Crown Point maximum security penitentiary. He must have.

Ressler had been dwelling over that comment more than the other one that Reddington had dared to say, while being shown to his dank and windowless cell by Ressler and another long-time guard at the penitentiary. After having been released from then cuffs while flexing his hands, they had slammed his cell closed and had it securely locked up when Reddington had dared to say, "How's the wife, Donald?"

Ressler could still hear it in Reddington's low voice, as if it had only just happened yesterday, the taunt that had taken over his tone of voice. Just as vividly as he could recall what Reddington's face had looked like, when he had turned to look at him. The man known as fugitive Raymond Reddington, who had only just reached into his fifties at the time, met his eyes through the iron bars separating them.

Ressler's first thoughts was that the man was by no means impressive; Donald was several inches taller than him, and the man was nearly bald and stocky with a paunch showing through his black-and-white prison garbs. He had clearly been overindulging throughout the months, from all that money he had unlawfully obtained while robbing banks throughout various countries and locations. His green eyes had been both disarmingly piercing and observant as he looked back into Donald's eyes with a closed-lipped smile and tilt to the head that Donald could have only described as irritating.

This had been the very same man Donald had been assigned to capture and he had at last succeeded. Although hardly impressive physically, it was the man's brain and intelligence that was obviously his best wielded weapon. Donald had been disturbed by the knowledge the man held over the troubled state of his marriage with Audrey, but he had kept it hidden.

"Poor woman," Reddington had went on, while Ressler had remained quiet. He knew not to add fuel to the fire by answering the outlaw. He still felt the words sting, even to this day. The way Reddington had looked sympathetically at him through the bars while chewing the inside of his cheek, condescendingly sympathetic. "You should consider investing in another career choice. How must she feel, knowing that her husband is more invested in the capture of Raymond Reddington rather than sustaining his marriage and spending time with his child?"

Ressler had almost slipped up at the time. He had wanted to demand how Reddington knew about the state of his marriage, how he knew so much. Only he had kept himself quiet, his cheeks burning. Instead, he had replied venomously, "Hope you enjoy your new room, Reddington, with a bed. Its certainly no hotel room but its more than what you deserve, you son of a bitch." Ressler had jerked his chin over towards the cot- a mere bulky, urine stained-mattress- that was Reddington's new sleeping quarters. "That'll be the last bed you'll ever be sleeping on until you die. Better enjoy it while it lasts."

And that had been the very last and only comment Ressler had made. And now, there he was, choking on his own words.

Reddington, the bastard, was now out. The bastard had escaped. Since that conversation shared with each other, Ressler was possessed with a new fire of determination into getting Reddington recaptured. It was one thing, to put him down by knowing private and intimate knowledge about his marital problems and then teasing him over it. Making Donald look like a fool by successfully escaping prison several months later, was another thing entirely. How was his team meant to take him seriously, knowing that Reddington had fled right under his very own supervision? He had been in charge of the entire operation and then he had let the entire team down.

Donald was almost bitterly convinced that Reddington had orchestrated the entire thing on purpose with the sole intent of making him look bad, like an idiot or fool.

Well, there wouldn't be a next time of it happening, not under Donald's watch. He was sure of that. He had gone into Hoover's office, requesting that the rules be changed and that Reddington should be shot on sight, considering he wouldn't last long being incarcerated. He'd probably only just find some new way to escape the next prison they had sent him to. And after being tipped off, they had discovered that Reddington was back operating in Chicago. While there hadn't been any other robberies relating to him since his breakout of the penitentiary four days ago, he was still alive and active. A source had seen the man dining out with several other associates and gang members at a dance hall only several nights ago.

Reddington was closer to where Ressler needed him to be than he thought ever possible.

Yet when they raided the dance hall, neither Reddington nor his associates had been anywhere to be seen. Ressler was confident it hadn't been simply just a false or misleading lead. Reddington had to be in Chicago.

Ever since learning of Reddington's successful breakout it had been taking a toll on him. For the third night in a week, he had called Audrey, asking her to put his supper away so that he could eat it when he got in later, that he was doing late work at the office. He spent the nights in the office rereading paper articles on Reddington's activity and staring at his black-and-white mug shot, envisioning the two of them back in the same room together.

The son of a bitch was getting deep under his skin and no doubt, Reddington was already aware of that.

On the forth night after informing Audrey yet again that he would be home later in the evening, he had made a fresh cup of coffee to take it back into the office with him, looking at all the pictures on the walls and the maps that he had been drawing on to record all the whereabouts Reddington had been tipped-off at over the years. There was no connection, to any of the locations. No correlations.

He was the only one still in the office; He had let all the other officers head on home. He was in charge and the lead investigator, after all. Jut because he was dedicated to the job of capturing Reddington and his gang, so much so that he was sacrificing valuable time with his wife and daughter and, not to mention sleep and food, it didn't mean they had to do the hours also.

He sighed loudly and raked his fingers through his strawberry blonde hair as he concentrated on one of the photographs of Reddington, where he had been holidaying in Cuba. The bastard was wearing aviator sunglasses and a finely made suit in the photo. He had been doing well for himself, making a living off money that wasn't even his to goddamn own.

Then the fugitive's words came back to him about his wife, taunting him all over again.

_"How must she feel, knowing that her husband is more invested in the capture of Raymond Reddington rather than sustaining his marriage and spending time with his child?"_

Dare he think such a thing, but Reddington perhaps was right. Donald hadn't even so much as had a proper conversation with his wife in a very long time. The last conversation they had shared together was when Audrey whined and moaned about him never spending time with his daughter, that he was letting his career and Reddington take over his daily life. Could his wife have been right? He wasn't sure.

He rubbed his eyes as he sat back in his chair.

He didn't feel he was being obsessive. He felt it was not obsession, but rather showing a passion and dedication to his job. He was busting his balls to make a name of himself, to make others take him and his family seriously. If he took down Reddington, Donald could only just imagine how much praise he would get, how much of a good reputation and recognition. Above all that, one chunk of a promotion and pay-rise so that he could afford to look after his wife and kid better. It wasn't his problem if Audrey felt differently.

xxxx

Liz was counting down eagerly the minutes until she finished her shift at work. A smile was constantly on her face as she collected coats and hats, hanging them on racks and offering tickets in return.

After kissing each other the night before in his hotel room, Red had told her that he was going to take her out to the theater this evening once her shift was finished - somewhere she had never been to before, a live show or picture theater. He had also wanted her to wear out one of the dresses he had brought her; She had decided on wearing the beautiful red dress with the fur trim around the neckline and sleeves, which he had given to her along with three others the night before.

Once her shift was finally over, she went into the women's restroom to change into the dress; He had said he would meet her outside. She felt her hands shake as she slipped into the dress as carefully as she could so that she wouldn't accidentally damage the fabric somehow. The dress had looked beautiful, but on, it felt even better. The fabric was cool and satiny against her skin. It made her feel glamorous, wearing a dress so stylish and expensive. It seemed to fit and follow the shape of her body perfectly and the size was exactly right. How Red had managed to accurately get her the right fit was anyone's guess. She pulled out her makeup purse and applied some red lipstick to her lips cautiously, meeting her reflection in the mirror.

She was being ridiculous.

She wasn't completely sure why she was still doing this, especially when knowing now the true identity of the man she was heading out on a date with tonight. Realistically, it couldn't lead anywhere. Sooner or later, he'd go to jail or worse came to worst, he'd be shot and killed and she would most likely have to return back to her normal boring self, living her boring normal, rundown life. For once, somebody was offering her excitement and something fun to do.

Last night, as she had gotten home to the apartment where she lived with her sick father, she had given herself a few stern warnings. It would simply be for fun, she had told herself. The man was a wanted fugitive who gained possession of money illegally by robbing banks and he was simply courting her and showing her a jolly good time. Nothing more, nothing less. It wasn't as if he was about to ask for her hand in marriage, for goodness sake.

Deciding she was ready, she stepped back out in her new fancy dress, heading towards the entrance and out the doors into the street. The wind cut through her dress and she started stroking her scar with the fingers on her other hand absentmindedly. It was a fairly dark and cold night, and she trembled as she peered around, searching for Red under the glow of the streetlights. He ought to have already been there by now, waiting for her.

Only he wasn't. He was nowhere to be seen.

xxxx

Sam was shaken awake when he heard the front door open.

He sat up weakly, waiting for his daughter to announce herself in. It didn't come. Elizabeth didn't call out as she usually did, and he cleared his throat gruffly, before croaking out, "Sweetie pie? Is that you?"

Footsteps moved along the hallway towards his room and Sam's throat tightened when suddenly a man appeared by the door-frame. It was a face Sam hadn't seen in many, many years, and he felt both shock and fondness pass through him at the sight of his old childhood friend. Time had treated his old friend better than it had treated him; Red looked well-fed and healthy. Sam had been expecting many things, but this visit was not one of them.

"Jesus. Ray? Is that really you? I thought you were my daughter for a moment there?"

"Hello, Sam. You look as if you have seen a ghost?"

"Well, yes. It feels that way."

"You look like hell, my friend."

"Yes, and I don't feel far off from that, either." Laughter bubbled up in Sam's throat, and he both laughed and coughed at the same time. It made a sharp jolt of pain stab through his ribs and he grimaced in anguish. "Don't make me laugh, it hurts too much." Remembering his manners, he beckoned his old friend over, patting a space beside him on the bed. His friend moved towards him without hesitation, removing his fedora. "I can't believe you're visiting. You've been on the radio, newspapers, everything. You've finally made it big, my friend. You're famous and now you're giving everyone what's owed to them; those banks and those damn lawmen. If I weren't so sick and if this fever would just get up and leave, I'd be doing the same thing you're doing!"

"How sick are you?" Red asked gently, sitting beside him.

"Well, I'll put it this way, I know I'm not going to get any better. Don't need no doctor's house visit to tell me that. I've been stuck in bed for months now. This hacking cough won't leave me, and poor Liz; She's fussing around with me when it shouldn't be that way." Sam thought pitifully of all the ways Elizabeth had had to help him throughout the years; Helping him dress, help him find his way to the bathroom while supporting him up with his arm around her. Hell, he could no longer even feed himself. Liz would have to spoon-feed him. Half the time he could hardly eat, as his jaw felt stiff and sore. It was really no decent way to live and he could see how much it both affected and frustrated Liz, the fact that he was not recovering. "She's my baby, I ought to be the one fussing around her. It's no way to live, and I know it worries Liz. I just wish she wouldn't fuss so much and that she would finally live her life. There's just no goddamn dignity left when your child has to look after you, helping you change clothes and helping you out of bed. I wouldn't wish this on anybody, least of all my own child."

His friend smiled and nodded sympathetically before delving a hand inside his overcoat, drawing out two cigars that made Sam's eyes widen. Back in the day, Sam had been a big cigar enthusiast, not that he had ever told Elizabeth that. She wouldn't have liked it, but all men had their bad habits, didn't they?

"You fiend," he laughed, when Red shifted closer on the bed towards him. He got a match out, and lit the cigar up while Sam laughed and coughed. "You've come here to tempt me, is that it, Ray? Goodness, if my Liz found out about this..." Sam fell silent for a moment, accepting the cigar from him. He watched the curls of smoke drift around the bedroom, almost pensively, as his old friend lit a cigar of his own. "This reminds me," Sam said quietly, "The last supper. One last cigar."

He looked at Red and they stared at each other in silence for a moment, each pursing their lips over their streaming cigars, before his old childhood friend nodded back.

They both knew what had to happen.

His old friend would put Sam out of his misery. And, subsequently, Liz's as well.

xxxx

Liz huddled against the brick building, waiting. She didn't know the exact amount of time it was that she had been waiting for Red to arrive, but it was aggravating, his lateness. Automobiles kept rushing past on the road but even while she glanced inside them quickly, she found no Red. What was keeping him? Or was this something he was doing on purpose to stand her up?

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed this one and that it wasn't bad? Just setting the scene basically for the next chapter. I've always been fascinated by John Dillinger and his relationship to Billie Frechette and, also, Bonnie and Clyde. So this is my attempt, I love the idea of Red being a gangster/robber on the run. Later on, Liz is going to get very Bonnie, gun-slinging herself hehe.**

**Please feel free to let me know your thoughts. Liking it still? Hating it? Thank you so much for reading. As usual, I'd love to know your thoughts so far. I've never been confident with writing, in fact I get anxious and very nearly nauseous when I go to post so any words you have or recommendations are most welcome. :)**


	7. Leave It Behind In The Past

_**So sorry I took so long to update this story. Hope it's okay? :)**_

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_**Chapter Seven**_

Minutes and minutes went by as Liz stood outside the Steuben Club building beneath the glow of the streetlights, her heart sinking as every second ticked on by. Still, there was no sign of Red. He wasn't in the windows of any automobiles she looked through as they passed. After awhile, she started feeling hot with embarrassment.

He was obviously standing her up, and maybe he had even planned to do that all along, yet she had been too foolish to realize it. He obviously hadn't truly wanted to take her to the theater tonight, and Liz was angry with herself that she hadn't picked up on the signs he gave off in advance.

Having enough of feeling foolish simply standing there, in the fancy fur-trim dress he had given her, she sighed loudly as began making the walk towards home. Groups of people passed her- men and women, having dates of their own and laughing gleefully- yet Red was still nowhere to be found.

She hadn't thought he would be the type of man to string a young woman along. Apparently, she was wrong.

She was just starting to cross the street to the apartment that she lived in with her father when suddenly she caught sight of the man rushing out of the front door. Her heart beat rapidly, thrumming against her rib-cage as she recognized that silhouette as Red's.

She stopped stock still when he crossed the road towards her. The beam of the streetlights made him look older, his face more lined and beneath his eyes more creased. "I'm so sorry I'm late, Lizzie," he said urgently, removing his fedora from his head to hold it between his hands. "Something came up and I had matters to attend to."

"You were very late so I decided I might as well head home," she admitted, not bothering to hide her offense. "If you really didn't want to take me to the theater, then you should have told me and been honest."

"I do want to take you to theater still." He placed his hat back on his head, outstretching an arm towards her, offering her to take it. "If we leave now, we may still have a chance to make it on time for the show."

Liz stared at him in silence for a moment, undecided. He did look apologetic, and he had sounded as if he still did want to go to the theater with her.

Her eyes flitted towards the front door of the house she lived in with her father. It had seemed as though he had just left the apartment through the front door, though she wasn't sure if it was a trick of the light that had made it seem so. She couldn't find any possible reason as to why he would have stepped inside the apartment, unless he dropped in to see Sam? After all, Red had confessed they had been childhood friends at one stage.

"I thought we were meeting outside the Steuben Club once I finished?" she asked quietly in confusion. "Yet I just saw you exiting the apartment where I live with Sam?"

Red gave her a small smile as he turned back to glance at the building where she lived himself. The light in Sam's bedroom was on, she saw. Her father was still awake, which was odd. Usually he slept all through the day and night, only waking once he heard her get in so he could talk with her.

"Yes, and I suppose its another reason for my tardiness." He met her gaze, his voice low and rumbly, filled with sincere apology. "I had forgotten that we had arranged to meet at the Steuben Club. Rather instead, I came to your home to pick you up to take you mistakenly."

"Was my father up? Did you speak to him?"

"No, I didn't. I was merely waiting by the front door and saw that you weren't home so I decided to leave." He stepped closer, offering his arm to her again. "Now, shall we before it gets too late?"

She didn't hesitate to take his arm this time. She slipped her hand around his arm and held it, letting him lead the way towards the theater. He had sounded genuinely apologetic anyway, and she supposed it wasn't fair of her to hold a grudge due to his lateness.

Halfway towards the theater, she saw that he was looking at her, staring approvingly though she wasn't sure why. "I knew you would look beautiful in that dress," he said, making her flush with pleasure.

"Thank you," she mumbled, flattered. "And I suppose I should really thank you again for buying me the dress." She tried to hold his gaze so that he could tell how much she meant it. "No one has ever thought to buy me such... fancy gifts before. It's kind of you."

"Well, you are more than worth it, Lizzie."

"Oh, I don't know," she laughed nervously, glancing down at the sleeves on her dress. She played with the fur with her fingers. "I am really not used to wearing anything other than a two dollar dress. You can really feel the difference, with how... luxurious it feels against the skin."

He lifted his arm, catching her shoulder in his hand, pulling her in close to his side which made a pleasant tingle spread through her. "If I have my way, you'll never wear two dollar dresses ever again." His voice was serious and filled with determination, and when Liz peered up at him, he stared back into her eyes intently. "You deserve the very best, so that is what I am going to give you. The _very_ best."

It was a bold declaration and Liz wasn't sure whether to laugh out loud in uneasiness. The man most definitely had a way with words and knew how to make her feel nice and cherished. It wasn't what Liz had expected, and it stunned her.

She found herself relieved once they reached the large, tan brick building of the theater place. Red held the door open for her, and Liz smiled thankfully as she went in first, the knot of nerves in her stomach seeming to be a constant companion. She hadn't been properly out with a man before, and, if she had to be honest, she hadn't once dreamed her first time out with a man taking her to the theater to watch a show would be with someone like him.

But it was surprisingly easy to push aside the fact that he was the man who graced front pages of the newspaper; that he was the criminal all the lawmen in the States were searching for. While being in his company and experiencing the way he treated her and was so chivalrous, it was like second-nature to conveniently forget just who this man was.

"I have reserved a private box for us, which had been assured to me was the best spot in the entire theater," Red explained to her.

When the man behind the desk seemed to recognize Red, he immediately walked behind it, showing them to where they would be viewing the show from. They went through a different entrance, up a flight of stairs, and then through a pair of curtains it opened up into a private area with four seats. As the man left them alone and they sat, Liz felt her heart speed up when Red reached over with his hand, finding one of hers and grasping it in his. He never let her hand go even once for the rest of the show, and Liz enjoyed every second of it.

Seeing a live show in a theater wasn't anything Liz had seen before nor experienced, so she found herself entranced by the performers on stage. Red had been right; It was the perfect spot to see them from. Every time something monumental happened, Red was leaning towards her, whispering a commentary in her ear that she both appreciated and welcomed. She didn't think she had ever met a man whose voice she had enjoyed listening to so much.

By the time it was over and people started to stand to fill out of the theater, she was disappointed. Liz had enjoyed it so much that she found she hadn't wanted it to end.

When she turned her head to glance at Red, she discovered that he was already watching her. "What did you think of that, Lizzie?" he asked, actually sounding as if he truly wanted to know her opinion. It made her feel special, like he valued her.

She grinned at him, a full bright smile. "Well, of course, I've never been to the theater before so its impossible for me to say. But I felt it was... amazing. The performers did a tremendous job and I enjoyed every second of it." She let her eyes roam around the box, amazed. "And you were... absolutely right. This really was the best spot to see it all. I'm surprised you didn't have to pay a fortune to reserve this area?"

"I did. You would be surprised how much money can get you if you throw it around in the right places." She felt guilty that he had probably spent so much and had gone to such efforts, but when she looked at him, she realized he didn't seem too concerned either way about it.

"Well, thank you," she said honestly. "That was great."

Outside of the theater and back onto the street, Liz was struggling to find a way to tell him goodnight. She really ought to have gone home to check on her father. She wasn't used to leaving him alone.

"Well, I better be off," she said hesitantly. "I better get home and check on my father. But thank you, it's been a... a swell night, really."

He checked his wrist watch before glancing back at her. "But its only ten o'clock? The night is still young and surely, there is_ plenty_ of time left for you to still get home and check on Sam." He was trying to talk her out of leaving, and she could see that. "I thought it would be nice if we had dinner?"

"I would love to spend more time with you and dinner sounds lovely, but... really, I shouldn't."

"Sam's a big boy, Lizzie," he said in an offhand manner. "I'm sure he'll be fine alone for a few more hours. Surely he can take care of himself."

"That's the thing though. He really can't." She felt embarrassed prattling on about how she had to get home to check on her father, but she really did need to. "He can't do anything himself anymore, not with how... sick he is." The idea of Sam being left alone for more than an hour worried her. "He needs me to do everything for him. Cook for him... feed him, making sure he can hold the food down. I'm sorry but I really do need to go."

"Fair enough then." He didn't sound too pleased about it, but he relented with a nod. "Be sure to arrive home safely."

He moved closer, gripping her arm with a hand as he moved his head down to leave a lingering kiss on her cheek. She smelled the rich and musky cologne he was wearing, and she found it difficult to move away and separate from him. His lips felt too good on her cheek. She would have liked to feel them on... other places.

When she stepped back with a tight-lipped smile, flushed, she glanced up at him. There was something there in his expression she didn't quite understand. It was impossible to know what that expression was, but Liz thought he appeared concerned for her, his lips pressed into a thin line. Moisture was gathering in his eyes, it seemed, like he was addled with a grief that she didn't understand.

"If you need me for any reason at all, you know where I'll be," he said hoarsely, and he reached out again with his hand to grip her arm. He squeezed down a little with his fingers, in a way that seemed consoling. "I'll be at the same hotel as you've been in. If you're unsure of what room it is or you can't remember, just ask the desk clerk."

His reaction both startled and confounded her. It was if he knew something she didn't yet, as if he was trying to placate her. It frightened her.

"Of course," she said quietly with a forced smile. "I know exactly what room you're in. Again, thank you for a wonderful night. The theater show was... amazing."

He squeezed down with his hand once more, and then finally, he let it fall to his side.

She was still frazzled by his peculiar reaction when she started walking towards home, under the safe glow of the streetlights. It really seemed as though he was apologizing for something, or perhaps he still had a guilty conscience about earlier on when he had been late to meet her? Liz was unsure, but a sense of dread trickled through her.

"Daddy?" she called, once she got in. When she stepped upstairs in her heels, walking along the hallway towards his room, that sense of dread wouldn't seem to leave her, though she didn't have any proper reason to feel anything was wrong. "Daddy, it's me. I'm home now?"

Usually Sam would call out, calling her sweetie pie, asking how her day was. If he was still asleep, she would hear his loud and raucous snores. She heard neither this evening.

The light was still on in his bedroom. When she crossed the entryway into his room, her father was...

A noise escaped her as a hand fluttered towards her mouth, covering it. Then another sound left her, and her hands shaking grew even worse when she realized what was happening.

Her father was in bed, but he wasn't sleeping as he usually was. One of his pillows was over his face. She couldn't hear him breathing. He wasn't making a single sound at all, and Liz immediately knew what that meant.

Her father was dead. Someone had... snuffed him out with his pillow, it seemed.

She wasn't brave enough to move towards the bed, to shove the pillow off his head to see his face. Seeing how he looked, how much he must have struggled to get the pillow free so that he could breath... it would be too much for her.

Instead, she stumbled backwards out of the room, spinning around to rush down the stairs, one hand still covering her mouth as she trembled.

* * *

"My father's dead," she announced numbly once Red opened the door to his hotel room, his face falling into a comforting mask of concern. "I... I got home and went to check on him, and he... he's dead."

His mouth opened and closed, as he seemed speechless on what to say to her. Then he moved aside, letting her in. No funny men were in his hotel room tonight, it was just him. Liz couldn't say she would have cared either way even if there_ had_ been anyone else in his room, like that off-putting Milos man.

"He... he had a pillow over his head," she muttered under her breath, standing still where she was. She found she couldn't be fussed doing anything, like sitting down or moving. She felt nothing but numb with shock. Paralyzed from the head straight down to her toes. "I... I think someone murdered him. They obviously came into the house and snuffed him out?"

She didn't fully break down and start crying until Red slipped his arms around her, pulling her in close, resting his chin against her forehead. She leaned her head against his chest as she heaved and sobbed, finding surprising comfort by being held in his arms. The cologne he was wearing alone seemed to engulf her like a warm embrace.

"I don't know what to do now," she said slowly. "What am I supposed to do now that he's gone? I... I did _everything_ for him, and now he's gone?"

"You're going to be just fine, Lizzie." His deep, calm baritone voice was soothing on her. "You'll carry on without Sam, and you'll be fine. It's a... a natural part of life, losing someone." He lifted his arms from around her back and she felt him run his fingers softly through the strands of her hair. "I have lost... countless friends and acquaintances over the years and while you may never fully get over the grief and adjust to life without them, it does become somewhat... easier with time."

"I just ran out and left him," she admitted, her throat tightening as the guilt overwhelmed her. "I should have stayed but... I didn't want to. Not while he was laying there like that... with the pillow..." She trailed off, shivering at the memory.

"You don't need to go back, Lizzie. You can stay here, with me?"

She pulled back to look up at him, her eyes blurred with tears. A wet laugh that sounded too much like a sob escaped her. "Stay here with you?"

"Well, _not here_, exactly as I do need to leave. I can't remain stagnant in one place for too long. But you_ can_ come with me?"His eyes searched her face as he stroked her cheek with his fingertips tenderly.

"What? Tag along with you while you try to avoid every lawmen that you see?"

"That part comes with the lifestyle as well, of course." Red's jaw tensed, then slackened. "But above all that, you can come with me and you can leave Chicago and all that it represents behind. Sam is no longer holding you down anymore. You can start a new life, Lizzie, an... exciting life with endless possibilities. You can travel with me, see everything that you want. You can see whatever the hell you like, and we can go wherever you like, night or day, whenever. All you have to do is tell me when." Just the way he said it, in a wistful tone, it made the idea sound so enchanting and inviting to her. "It may not be a very... ordinary or quiet life, but I _would_ like for you to join me? I think its very much the life you deserve."

**Hope this was okay? :P I apologize if its boring or really bad! I still get so anxious when posting chapters on the stories I write. **


	8. Finding Comfort

_**Firstly I own nothing to do with the Blacklist. Just a fan.**_

_**Thank you so much for your kind words and the alerts I've received, it means a lot. Hope you enjoy this one. Hope I'm getting the timeline right despite it all. If not, I'm still enjoying the challenge ;)**_

* * *

_**Chapter 8**_

Liz realized now that she had gotten to his hotel room, Red didn't seem to want to let her leave just yet.

He rubbed around her back with his hand while pushing her gently towards the bed. "There, sit," he said eagerly, like the thought of her leaving was unpalatable. "Make yourself at home, Lizzie. Rest your feet and bones awhile."

Truth be told, she didn't quite feel like leaving just yet herself. She turned and sat on the edge of the mattress, crossing her legs as she watched him move across the room to get something. Even watching him and finding a good distraction in observing him didn't seem to work a treat in getting her out of her dismal mood; She felt as though any second now, she'd be crying again, though she felt dried of tears already.

But something about his presence was automatically comforting on her. She thought that maybe it was because she knew, deep down, that he had known Sam as well, that they had been old pals when they were children. It meant he knew what she was going through; He shared her pain, her grief.

"I know precisely what it is that you need, Lizzie. No doubt it will do you some good."

The dress he had brought her wasn't made for sitting and crossing her legs, she realized. She interlaced her fingers on both hands together around her knee as she sat rigidly straight on the mattress. It felt uncomfortably tight around her legs when she crossed one knee over the other, but she managed.

"What do I need?"

"A little jorum of skee," he explained with a smile, finding an unmarked bottle of yellow liquid. He found two glasses and Liz felt a fleeting sense of amusement when he flamboyantly yanked open the cork before pouring in a generous amount into the two glasses for the both of them. "A little scotch to put some fire and warmth deep into your belly," he added, holding the glass out towards her when he came to stand in front of her.

She accepted it hesitantly, peering into the glass at the contents. She hadn't been much of a drinker, although the several times in which she had tried a drink, she'd felt an instant aversion to it. So many people made it seem like to drink was such jolly good fun, yet Liz couldn't fathom it, really.

When she glanced up at Red again, he lifted his glass, holding it high towards the ceiling. "To Sam!"

Grief choked her as she brought herself to lift her glass as well, her hand shaking. "To Sam," she murmured, then she took a curious sip.

The instance she swallowed the first mouthful down, Liz felt as if she was being burnt alive. It was awfully pungent and the liquor stung her nostrils. When she met Red's gaze as he took a short sip, he made a noise, shaking his head silently in disgust. Apparently he hadn't been much fond of the taste either.

She tried with all her might to keep her eyes to herself when she caught him sliding his arms out of his jacket out of the corner of her eye. Her cheeks seemed to burn when she deliberately glanced down at the glass she was holding in her hand, at the grotesque contents inside of it.

But she couldn't help_ not_ watching him; He folded his jacket neatly, plopping it down on the vacant armchair near the fireplace in the room. He slipped the small handgun she had held that one time out from the band of his trousers, clunking it onto the small table near the armchair.

Then he turned, searching for something else. He found his fedora and he sat it on top of the jacket. Then finally, he thumbed his suspenders, pulling them tight and adjusting them over his shoulder blades to make himself feel more comfortable. She felt even more flustered and frazzled when he hitched up his pants slowly before sitting next to her on the mattress with a content sigh through his mouth.

She had certainly never felt this way before, so intense about a man. He was sitting next to her on the bed, so close that the rough skin on the tip of his elbow brushed against her every time he brought his glass of scotch to his lips. A peculiar tingle seemed to originate from her hips downward over that innocent and unintentional bit of touching.

She took in another sip of the alcohol, grimacing silently, as she stole a look quickly at the side of his face. He seemed so relaxed, so pensive as he sat beside her, slightly hunched over with one elbow on his knee. Yet he appeared a little wistful and glum as well. She wondered if he was thinking about her father, reminiscing on their childhood years together.

She thought back to that time he had told her the humorous tale of her father and him, of how they would steal the neighbor's chickens from time to time. She imagined her father scurrying off as a boy, no longer ill and bedridden but with all the energy of a naughty child, Red in front of him, both with clucking chickens slung under their arms. It was so difficult to imagine it, both him and Sam as young boys. She for some reason had difficulty imagining a time there where her father had been healthy, when he hadn't been sick. It felt so strange to think of him in other ways.

"So you and Sam were chicken thieves?" she finally spoke up, breaking through the silence between them.

Red hummed loudly, a vigorous and deep exhale shrinking then expanding his chest.

"We were rascals, Lizzie." He sighed loudly, shaking his head. "If you are able to think of the two most naughty children in the world, then think of us. I don't believe there was ever a day where we didn't get a hiding from our father's. " Sam had rarely spoken to Liz about what had gone on during his childhood years, of how much trouble he was, and what he was like as a young boy. She found herself enjoying what Red was telling her immensely. "That's what we were, me and Sam." He turned his head to look at her, fondness glistening in his eyes. "Deviant little rascals, the pair of us."

"I find it difficult to imagine it," she admitted slowly with a small smile. "My father, he... he never spoke a single word about what he was like when he grew up as a boy. I know I used to ask him all the time, because... I was curious and I had wanted to know how different the world was today from the one that he grew up in."

It sunk in then just how alone she was now. Sam was gone now. He was really,_ really_ gone and he would never be coming back.

"He would never tell me anything." She didn't realize how much it bothered her until then. Sam hardly ever told her anything. "I do remember one time where I was being naughty. I can't remember what I did but he... he said I was lucky I grew up to be a girl. He said I was lucky I didn't have a father like his was?"

"Yes." Red cleared his throat gruffly, meeting her eyes. "His father was the... disciplinary sort. He was a firm believer in punishment, much like mine was."

He paused for a moment, his eyes faraway, distant. Then hoarse laughter escaped him as he shook his head, blinking compulsively, though he appeared embarrassed for it, for laughing.

"After what happened, with the chicken incident as I told you about with the neighbor next to his house... I remember his father shouting as he took Sam by the elbow, steering him away behind the shed. I heard him crying, and... I didn't realize until much later when I saw Sam again that his father had lashed him with his belt." Liz felt her stomach drop as she realized just how horrible her father's childhood must have been. She didn't know. "The neighbor had dobbed us in to his father and his father was furious and so he punished him in the only way he knew how. Sam was... never quite the same after that. Although he had seemed to enjoy stealing the chickens at the time, due to seeing how livid his father was with him, he had lost some of his flare for being mischievous after that."

Liz felt a smile come across her face, despite how horrific what he was telling her was. She really was grateful for it, for what he was doing. For letting her hear about Sam, telling her tales she never would have gotten to hear otherwise.

Her fingers tightened over the glass instinctively. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice unsteady.

Red's eyes met hers again as his forehead crumbled. "For what, Lizzie?"

"For doing this, for... telling me stories of Dad as a little boy. It helps to hear about him. The Sam I knew was never much of a talker, particularly when it came to his childhood years. It means a lot to hear about it with you, that you're bothering to tell me this."

"Well, you're very welcome, Lizzie." As though it was taking him a lot of effort to move, he brought his hand over, squeezing her once on the knee, almost apologetically. She couldn't help feeling as though he was apologizing for something, and when she lifted her gaze to his face again, the tight-lipped smile he gave her seemed sad and rueful.

Then he moved, startling her. He stood from the bed, reaching around to grab something. Liz suspected for a moment there that it was his gun, yet she was mildly disappointed when she saw it was only a long cigar and a match that he held between his fingers.

"Would you mind?" he asked, voice muffled, the unlit cigar bopping up and down as he spoke with it in his mouth.

She shook her head, falling silent again as she forced herself to gulp down a large mouthful of the scotch. It truly was the most atrocious drink she had tasted in her entire life. She felt melancholy in mood yet moved emotionally by what he had told her about her father. She didn't think he understood just how much it had meant for her to hear it. Desperate to find something else to talk about to shake off the overwhelming feelings inside of her, she forced herself to speak.

"Why did you decide to start robbing banks and to live a dishonest life?" Liz asked. She couldn't help it, she was genuinely curious. She thought that there wasn't a single thing about him that didn't interest her.

Red was silent for a moment as he pursed his lips over the cigar, flicking a match. The orange flame sizzled and cracked to life as it came alight, and he ducked his head, lighting the end while ash-grey smoke twirled around them into the hotel room.

He still remained in a thoughtful silence as he waved the match out, smoke streaming out through his nostrils. She heard a wry grunt escape him as he returned to sit beside her again, reaching down to place his glass of scotch on the carpet. "You don't ask easy questions, do you?"

"Is it something you enjoy? How did you go from thieving chickens as a little boy, to where you are now?"

He blew out smoke through his mouth, squinting at her through it. "I became dreadfully bored by the mundane conventions of normal life," he said after a moment, though with a playful air that made it difficult for her to decide on whether he was fooling around with her or not. "You were expected to marry, settle down, trudge your way through life to make ends meet. It just... it held no true appeal to me. When I was in my early twenties, I enlisted in the Navy, thinking foolishly that it would somehow break me out of it. I quickly became bored with that also, with the... hustle and bustle of Navy life. Everything was all too... regimented to me, it wasn't any fun."

"So you went quickly from Navy to bank robber with all the lawmen under the sun looking for you?" she said in disbelief.

"Well, partly." He tilted his head to the side, considering. "It took awhile to get there. I got into trouble while I was in the Navy, so when the ship docked in Boston, I deserted them. Then, first time ever in my whole life, I got into trouble with the law for auto theft. Got sent to jail for two years. As it turned out, they were the most miserable and sordid two years of my life." Liz couldn't help feeling overwhelmed by what he was telling her; Already, at a young age, he had done and experienced so much. "The heat was dreadful, especially when all I seemed to do was pick cotton. After that little stint, I vowed that I would never go to prison again, if I could help it."

"You told me that you broke out of prison recently?"

"Oh, yes!" He laughed loudly. "Barely seven days ago, in fact. You see, I was so much greener back then, Lizzie. I hadn't the connections that I do now. Fortunately over the years I have come to learn the importance of establishing solid connections and building rapport with like-minded individuals." He sounded quite proud of himself, she thought. "And so I was in prison again barely seven days ago and now, here we are. Life is good and well again." He puffed at his cigar again, his cheeks hollowing.

"You've done a lot then, haven't you?" she whispered in shock. And amazement; There was a lot of amazement there also. It was amazing, how much he had gone through over the years. He didn't look that old; Barely in the beginnings of middle-aged years, and yet, he had already done so many things. "Already, you've done and been through so much?"

"It's a crazy damned life, Lizzie. But I do feel as though it's something I was born to do."

She felt so lacking in comparison to him. What had she done so far that had actually amounted into anything? Nothing. She felt so under-experienced, so unworthy and undeserving of being in his company then.

She sensed a peculiar shift in his jovial mood as he focused on her through the cigar smoke. Liz's eyes had started stinging but she couldn't seem to care less.

"But back onto the topic of your father, Lizzie, he was a... a _good_ man." His hand found her knee again and she felt that tingling sensation infect her again as he stroked her kneecap with his fingers. "At least you can rest assured now knowing that wherever he is, he has at true last found permanent respite from his illness."

Liz felt her muscles tense up at the way he phrased it, so carelessly. She hadn't really considered it in that light; That wherever Sam was now, he was finally at peace. She supposed Red was right, when she thought about it. Sam had been so sick for such a long time now that Liz could notice how much it was affecting him, how much he was growing tired of it.

"I never thought of it like that," she admitted hesitantly after a moment. "But you're right. He _has_ been sick for an extremely long time now."

"He's free from his suffering." His fingers were still touching her, stroking her knee while he held the cigar in his mouth with his other hand. "I know it may be hard to put it into such a perspective, but... you should find some solace and consolation in that, Lizzie. No doubt Sam knew that his illness was not going, that it hadn't intended to leave. He was in pain and he wanted out." His words alone were like a soothing caress; something that seemed to ease a lot of weight off her heart. He tutted his tongue in pity as he shook his head slowly, whispering something that sounded very much to Liz like, "Dear, old Sam. There was _such..._ goodness there."

"Do you really want me to come with you?" she asked quietly, doubtfully. She searched his face carefully when he looked at her, staring deeply into her eyes.

"Yes, without a doubt," he answered, so passionately that it was hard for her to believe otherwise. "There's no one else I would prefer to walk along this world with. And I _am_ getting older," he acknowledged, with a shameful nod. "I'm not getting any younger and life is starting to catch up to me. But before I die, I think I _would_ like to experience it all again with a beautiful woman at my side. Even if it is for _one_ last time." Sadness pieced her heart at that. "And Lizzie, there's truly _no_ woman as beautiful as you."

He'd done it again; He'd said something so bold, something so serious to say to somebody. It took her breath away, the intensity in his gaze as he stared back at her unflinchingly. It was if he didn't care at all, that he didn't care what he said. _And oh, boy, it was something she needed to hear._

She wanted to go with him, so badly. She didn't care how reckless and foolish it was; wanting to be with a man so much, particularly when he was in so much serious trouble the way he was. He was a felon on the run from lawmen, and no doubt, it wouldn't amount to anything good. He could die at any minute; He could be shot on sight, and yet, it was a risk she felt was worth it to take.

She wanted him, and she wanted to go away with him. He was so exciting; He had seen so many exciting things and had experienced it all, it seemed. Who wouldn't be ecstatic over the chance of living a life filled with a little excitement? He was offering for her to go see the world with him, to do so many exciting things. To break away from her mundane, rundown life, to do something others would have only ever dreamed of.

But while there she was, beaming at him, there was one thing she had to do. One thing she couldn't not to.

"I would absolutely love to go with you," she admitted, her voice trembling, aching with sheer excitement. "But I can't just yet. My father needs to..."

"-Your father needs to be put to rest," Red butted over her with an understanding nod. He stroked her one last time with his fingers before sliding his arm away, reaching down to grab his glass of scotch. Liz found she immediately missed the exhilarating contact of his fingers the instant he removed them. "Do whatever you need to do first, Lizzie. There's no-"

She heard Red stop mid-sentence when she leaned over on the bed towards him, pressing her lips to his cheek. Yet again, she found herself enamored with how brilliant he smelled; Up close with her nose, his cologne filled her senses, intermingled with the stench of cigar smoke.

She felt his warm skin jump beneath her lips as he swallowed audibly. It was her way of thanking him, her own way of expressing how so deeply grateful she was. She was so happy that she had met him; so happy that she had thought to go to him after the horrible discovery of her dead father in bed.

Words hadn't seemed like enough.

When she pulled back reluctantly, forcing her mouth away, she saw that he had his eyes pinched tightly closed, making the creases around his eyelids more pronounced, his jaw slack. He looked like he was in severe pain, yet contradicting that, he also seemed so at bliss.

And _damn it_. His unexpected reaction to her kissing him on the cheek only made her want this with him even more. What had he called it before? A crazy damned life?

Well, she was ready. She was ready and willing to experience a crazy damned life for once. With _him_.

**Hope you enjoyed this one? :-) I'd love to know. I do hope it isn't too out of character or a total disappointment? If there is anything that you would like to happen in the story, feel free to let me know. I really appreciate reading your thoughts.**


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